Your Smile is Not Contagious
by OrangePlum
Summary: Russia has a new hobby, and his name is Alfred.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I barely know any Russian. If I am wrong then please feel free to correct me. This is a story about nothing in particular, and everything all at once.

Enjoy. The beginning part might be a little slow, but it picks up, I promise.

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Prologue **

* * *

It was fucking cold, that much was clear.

It had been uncharacteristically cold that winter for some reason that was merciless to the on goers on the streets, every spare body part freezing over with layers of frost and ice adding an additional six pounds to adults, three to children. It wouldn't have been such a big deal had Alfred not been standing there for three hours, knees quivering and teeth rattling like maracas on a sandy tropical beach which, coincidentally, he'd give just about anything to be on at the moment. But as luck would have it (or wouldn't have it, some could argue) he was unable to leave from his very spot on that corner.

He crinkled his nose when a spare glimmer of a snowflake fell onto his nose, it sending an unpleasant burning under the surface of his skin. Damn snow. It was only mid October and it was snowing. What was the world coming to? Alfred shifted his feet and buried his chin into the curve of his jacket collar, eyes scanning slowly the vast wave of faces passing him by. He wanted to die; really he did. But dying meant getting yelled at by his boss and ridiculed at his funeral, which Alfred wasn't looking forward to.

Plus he was a hero. And heroes never died by freezing on a street corner waiting for some lumbering oaf – the reincarnation of Stalin himself – that should have been there three _fucking_ hours ago –

He stopped and pulled up his sleeve to glance at his watch for what seemed like the ten thousand and eleventh time. Alfred growled lightly, the rumbling wracking his chest like an avalanche. He grumbled indecipherable word garbage under his breath, shooting an irritable glare at a random passerby who gave him the finger. And if he had to check _one more time _to see if all his fingers were the appropriate color (not charcoal black and purple that seemed to accompany frostbite) then he would surely just snap them off himself to save himself the trouble of doing it later when they actually _were _frostbitten.

"I can't believe this," Alfred muttered, shifting his feet once more when another snowflake slid down his cheek. "_Do me a favor_ he says. _It's only for the afternoon _he says," he reiterated and made faces even though his boss couldn't see the great job of mocking he was doing. Alfred slumped his shoulders and blew into his gloved hands, the gloves actually not doing the job they were supposed to by keeping his hands warm. He was going to have to make a very angry call when he got back home. "Well I was under the distinct _impression_ that this favor for the afternoon would be indoors. Not that pretending I'm one of those ice fairies Arthur always tells me about isn't fun. No. I find it _fabulous_. I'm Jack fucking Frost. And all because I'm such a nice guy who can't so no to anyone and always puts myself last when it comes to the good of mankind – but this is just plain ridiculous. I mean, I know he's sadistic, but who knew that Russian would try to go out of the box and _freeze _me to death? I never saw that coming! The man is _fucking brilliant_," he complained with a humorless laugh and smacked his forehead against a building, almost surprised his face didn't shatter into a million little pieces on the ground.

He leaned back and pouted when his forehead started to throb, obviously turning red from the impact. Oh well, it was just another body part red from this weather; his nose, his cheeks, his ears, fingers, - lips were actually more of a blue color – , probably toes, and perhaps eyelids – but now he was getting off subject.

He straightened out and stood in silence, lights wisps of white streaming from his dry and frozen lips. He watched them blandly for a while, almost as if he were smoking one of those cigarettes he used to be so obsessed with in the '20s, before a familiar clacking of heavy boots against concrete brought his attention elsewhere. He knew that sound anywhere. That sound had haunted his nightmares during the Cold War and sent painful spikes of dread (and secretly a little bit of fear) rocketing down his spinal column.

Just to make sure he wasn't going into some meltdown, the frost actually getting to him and slowly shutting his organs down one by one to make him hallucinate, Alfred turned his head mechanically and peered down the street to where a smiling Russian man was slowly making his way towards him. At least, his pace would have been slow for any normal human being, but with his legs as long as stilts, he was actually approaching fairly fast.

Alfred didn't move or show any interest as the larger nation regarded him with cheerfulness, eyes sparking when catching a glimpse of his golden cowlick sticking up persistently. And Alfred couldn't help but absentmindedly wonder how such a large man could walk so gracefully – as if he were floating it would seem. He snorted. Russia must have taken ballet at one point in his life, Alfred was certain. He did seem obsessed with those Russian figure skater people.

An eerily perky voice traveled down his ear canal making him shudder when Russia stopped no more than two and a half feet away from him with a wave. "Dobriy den', dear America."

Alfred eyed him wearily before grumbling into his collar. Russia smiled and tilted his head slightly, seeming to appear childish what with his rosy cheeks and round eyes. Alfred held back a dry heave and turned away. "I am surprised," Russia continued as if he couldn't sense his companion's discomfort; couldn't sense or didn't care? "I would have expected you to be late for our arrangement but here you are, as early as can be."

Alfred turned only to gape at the giggling (there was nothing right about a man his size giggling) Russian before snapping. "What the hell are you on and why aren't you sharing? I've been standing around here for hours freezing my ass off! _You're_ the one who's late!"

Russia craned his neck and stopped his chortles long enough to observe Alfred merrily. "Hm? I am late, you say?" He paused to pretend to think about this only causing the American to hunker down and seethe, the snowflakes in his hair nearly melting and turning to steam. "No, I do believe you are wrong on this, America. But that happens so often, does it not? I will humor you this time and play along if you wish."

Alfred blew a puff of air harshly through his nostrils, resembling one of those bulls Spain seemed to love taunting for sport. He flexed his brittle fingers at his sides and was surprised when they didn't snap off before narrowing his eyes at the nation whose head alone seemed to be making the sun go into an eclipse. "I've been here for three hours…_Three hours_. I was told to meet you here at one. Not four. No. Now it's four. How can I possibly be the one late if it's _four_?" Alfred realized that moment that it was very hard to breathe when the inner casings of your lungs were coated over with ice and the like. Not a good discovery but a helpful thing to know.

Russia blinked before letting that annoying smile hike up his face again making his eyes squint. "You are very silly, for on the contrary. I was told to meet here at five. You see the mix up, da? Perhaps the message was just relayed by one of your common imbecilic political servants. If so then there is no need to apologize. I have dealt with this enough to know when to forgive."

Alfred could only just stare at how many insults Russia had decked at him in under two minutes of meeting each other. Was this normal to do on the eastern hemisphere? Because last time he was aware, insulting the main world power while visiting their country was not flattering.

At all.

He couldn't even muster up the strength to combat with an insult (or voice why Russia found it normal to wait around in the cold an hour earlier than instructed). Maybe that's why Russia made him wait; to ice him over and not give him enough time to thaw and escape his bear sized paws that wanted to do unspeakable things to anyone smaller than him. _Unspeakable things_.

"Sure," was all Alfred muttered; anything to just get out of this damn cold. He turned to leave, not even sparing another glance at the frigid gargoyle behind him, before scouting out lethargically any decent warm shop with lots of witnesses in case this whole meeting went horribly awry. That familiar pattern of footsteps picked up behind him and he felt the cold tendrils radiating off Russia against the back of his coat making him shiver once more.

When Russia fell into step with Alfred he began to hum lightly to himself. "The weather is nice today, da?"

Alfred snorted and felt himself growing colder, if that was even possible. "Global warming at its finest, I must admit," he grinned sarcastically and instantly regretted it. He felt his skin pull tightly, resisting such a simple movement painfully. Note to self: don't waste any unnecessary energy on Russia.

Russia chuckled beside him before brushing a few loose strands of something or other from his scarf. "The weather is lovely here compared to my homeland. This would be, how you say, 'a walk in the park'?" He giggled once more making Alfred grimace and take two steps away. Apparently Russia found himself to be a very amusing person, which any sane person could say he certainly was not. Alfred grunted in reply and continued to focus on more important things.

Like not talking to Russia and finding somewhere warm.

"And yet here you are wearing such confining clothing. I find myself fairly warm if I must confess," Russia murmured and tilted his head curiously to catch the gawk Alfred sent him. "Do you find something strange?"

"Yeah. _You_. You were joking when you said it was warm, weren't you?" Alfred definitely couldn't wrap his mind around that. With his skin as hard as a rock, he was almost offended. If Russia thought today of all days was warm, then he must be like some fucking indestructible icebox with legs.

"Nyet. I am being perfectly serious. It is a bit uncomfortable to walk around in normal attire when the weather is anything but blistering hail and howling winds."

Alfred furrowed his brow and sped up his pace. This conversation was getting weird fast. Pretty soon Russia would probably complain about sweating and start removing some of his heavier clothing and –

"Where are you going in such a hurry, America? We do not have to discuss anything for another hour," Russia chimed and jogged lightly next to the blonde who was now gasping for air with a look of panic in his eyes, taking each square of concrete one foot at a time. When his lungs started to sting and protest, the air burning the frozen edges of its interior, Alfred slowed to a stop outside of a Starbucks and thanked God in heaven for creating such a magnificent shop so conveniently close to his panic attack.

Russia eyed the large glass doors when Alfred stood up weakly and opened them, not sparing another glance to see if his partner would follow him inside. If Russia was correct (heaven forbid!) then he still had forty-three minutes to himself, and he was going to do that warming up with some good ol' fashioned American Joe.

It didn't go unnoticed the stares he was getting when Russia stood beside him, _towering over him_ it would seem. Alfred wished he could suddenly shrink if only for a moment. He didn't like these looks the customers were giving him and he certainly didn't like how crammed it was in the line. Russia needed to take two giant steps back and away; his sleeves were precariously close to his lower back.

"Coffee?" Russia inquired and peered down at Alfred who didn't even bother looking at him, his neck and shoulders already filling with copious amounts of lactic acid.

"Yeah. I'm thirsty," he grit out. Russia blinked before smiling again and taking a step forward to get a better look at the drink selection, Alfred sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth at the _obvious _feeling of Russia's side against his back. "Hey, here's an idea. Why don't you just go find a spot somewhere and set up everything we need to discuss in the brief amount of time we'll be here and I'll meet you over there when I'm finished." It wasn't a suggestion, it was more of a diluted demand.

"Thinking ahead for once. My, you are surprising me once again. That is twice in one day," Russia laughed, but to Alfred it sounded nothing more than those creepy children giggles from horror movies. He used to have nightmares about Russia's laugh – that Yeti standing at the foot of his bed with glowing violet eyes and a smile that could rival the Cheshire cat with all his glowing teeth and huge creepiness with long fingers reaching out for him just threatening to pop his head off with one twist and suck his soul out through his neck hole and –

Alfred shuddered just remembering it. That's why his room used to be covered with dream catchers. He watched from the side of his eye as Russia maneuvered around the wall of people and almost out of sight; his head still towered over even the tallest man in the room. When Alfred got to the front and ordered his drink, he waited patiently just letting the feeling of his bones thawing consume him. When he finally got his coffee his eyes nearly rolled in the back of his head in ecstasy. It was liquid bliss.

Too bad spending the afternoon with Russia on business was going to take away from the affect. With great regret, he began to search for his political companion amongst the chattering customers and couldn't help but be surprised – why he was surprised he didn't know. It was Russia for crying out loud – when he spotted the pale-haired nation in the back corner of the shop; the darkest most secluded corner of the shop. Alfred blanched and slowly made his way over. _Why the hell does Starbucks even _have _a corner like that? _he thought. It looked like Dracula lived back there.

"I have found a spot just as you have instructed. Please take a seat so we can discuss various things of no specific nature," Russia said and motioned to the chair across from him, the only barrier a small rickety table that wouldn't even stop their knees from brushing.

"Yeah…" Alfred murmured with a frown and flinched when Russia's kneecap brushed his own, a slight chill traveling up his skin. He took another large gulp from his coffee before setting it down and rummaging into his coat to pull out a large manila folder. He sighed and started to twist the top pin to get it open, already knowing that this was going to be boring.

"So let's get this over with, I guess. Here's our half of this agreement, the papers already signed by the Vice President and Commander in Chief himself. If you have any questions about it when reading this just ask me and I'll clear it all up (that's why I'm here anyway). All we need is to have you look this over and see if it's approvable so you can pass it back to your –"

Alfred stopped mid-drone, going back into his business mode, when one of Russia's enormous hands shot up into his face to stop him. He leaned back and stared confused at the smiling Russian while Russia proceeded to fold his fingers together and rest his hands atop the table. "What? What is it?" Alfred asked, wondering what could possibly be wrong this early into their discussion.

"I am sorry, but I do not wish to converse this at the moment."

Alfred stared for what seemed like an eternity. "You don't," he deadpanned.

Russia shook his head, bangs fluttering lightly against his face.

"Well. What _do_ you want to talk about then," Alfred inquired, his patience starting to hang by a thread.

Russia settled into his seat and let his face soften at the cautiousness in the form across from him. "Colors."

Again. Another pause. "_Colors?_" Alfred asked incredulously and furrowed his brows. When Russia nodded again with a patient smile Alfred leaned back into his seat and tried to grasp this. He opened his mouth before shutting it, then opening it again and pulling his hands up to scratch at his hair. "Why do you want to talk about colors? Have you finally just snapped the last of what little sanity you had left and want to take it out on me?"

"No. I was simply just wondering what your favorite color is."

Alfred huffed. "Blue," he uttered quickly before laying out some documents on the table by his coffee. "So like I was saying before you rudely interrupted me, you need to look over these papers to see –"

"Just blue? You seem to be very invested in red and white as well. I never would have guessed that you hold blue to a higher standard. How interesting," Russia chirped and looked absolutely pleased much to Alfred's chagrin.

"What are you even talking about?" Alfred asked and made to take another sip of his drink to warm his belly. "Just look at these papers and tell me if the end result is suitable so I can go home and scrub your stink off me."

"I do not smell," Russia commented, although not seeming to have found Alfred's comment particularly annoying. "But as for the forms you have so sloppily laid out before us, I do not wish to discuss them."

"Then why am I even here with you?" Alfred demanded and his eyes grew wild. "I stayed outside in the snow to wait for you to finally decide to get off your ass when my fingers started falling off and come in here to do a favor for my boss who was really starting to get on my nerves when he wouldn't shut up about these papers and now - _now_. You tell me you don't even want to look at them? Well you can't blame the bad foreign relations on me if you're the one refusing to cooperate!" he huffed and pointed accusingly at the nation who didn't even flinch at his mild outburst. Russia just continued to smile and pushed Alfred's hand away casually from his face before folding his hands neatly once more.

"You misunderstand yet again. I am sorry if my thought process exceeds your own, but allow me to clarify and put you at ease," Russia said making Alfred scowl. "When I say that I do not wish to discuss the detailed topic of foreign relations that your leader has gone through the trouble to lay out for me, I am only meaning currently at the moment." Russia waited for a response but only got a dumbfounded stare. He sighed lightly, not quite used to such an unintelligent conversationalist, before trying to explain once again. "I am sorry if you still do not understand. Allow me to dumb it down once more. But if you do not get it this time, I will have no other means of explaining it."

"Just spit it out," Alfred spat impatiently making Russia chuckle into his hand. Ugh. The man shouldn't be blushing like that when looking at him. It made Alfred want to gag.

"I wish to talk about business at the given time for business."

Alfred stared once more before slumping forward, taking his cup in his hands and silently relishing the feeling of warmth against his fingers. "So…You're saying you don't want to get this figured out until five?" he took a shot in the dark. Russia perked up at this making Alfred believe he had hit the nail on the head. Too bad it was his head the nail plunged into because this was not good information at all. "Hold on. You want us to sit around in here for forty minutes before we're actually _supposed _to get this stuff straightened out?"

"Correct."

At this Alfred had to laugh. It was an unruly act that caught a couple of people's eyes, Alfred slumping against the table before pretending to wipe a tear from his eye. "Haha…You…aha…You're quite the funny guy, Russia. I mean, you're funny looking, but who knew you'd also have that personality down to go with it?"

"I do not believe I told a joke," Russia said, a bit confused but continued to smile politely.

"Oh, but you did. Because you'd have to be a comedian to say that I would sit around on my own free time with you," Alfred said, smile still there, but all humor gone.

"You must," Russia said, and Alfred took note how his lips were hiking up his cheeks, the shadows from the broken light above them that flickered giving Russia a more ominous appearance.

"I didn't sign up for that. I'm only here on business and if you're not willing to do business right now, then I'll just come back when you are. Have a pleasant evening," he said and stood up. He didn't even get two steps before a vice-like grip tugged at his wrist and made him wince in surprise. Alfred shot his eyes down at the cheerful Russian whose smile looked awfully strained.

"It is rude to leave in the middle of a conversation, _Amerika_," he reminded, Alfred's name rolling off his tongue in sharp clumps that did nothing but snag awkwardly against the blonde's ears.

"You _just _said you didn't want to talk," Alfred growled, pulling at his arm to get Russia to let go. No such thing happened.

"Another misunderstanding. I am not sure how many I can overlook in such a short amount of time. But you are going to test me on this anyway, are you not?" Russia grinned and quickly yanked Alfred back down into his seat. He retracted his hand and looked cheerful again. "I will cooperate and discuss what is needed to be discussed when the little hand is there, and the big hand is there," Russia pointed out and pointed at a clock trying to show Alfred what he meant with visuals.

"I'm not an idiot. I know how to read a clock," Alfred grunted and rubbed at the base of his spine. Russia sure had some power packed into those arms of his. Russia giggled at that and propped his chin in his hands, leaning towards Alfred who tried to hold back a disgusted tremble.

"In the meantime I wish to talk about your absence from the conference back in July."

…Conference, huh?

"_Why?_" Alfred couldn't even _seem _to comprehend why Russia would want to know something like that.

"I am merely curious. It was very quiet, if I recall correctly. I would be lying if I said I did not enjoy it, but it was also unnerving," Russia said and his eyes glazed over lightly with something that Alfred couldn't put his finger on. "Were you ill?"

Alfred wiggled in his seat uncomfortably before mumbling almost forcefully into the rim of his cup, "It was my birthday. Where the hell have you been to not know that?"

Russia looked anything but intrigued. Of course he knew that; Alfred had made it his unwritten duty to make everyone know that. "Oh! That does seem to make sense. But you have never missed a conference for you birthday before, am I correct?"

"No."

Russia tilted his head and fiddled with the frayed edge of his old scarf. "I am wrong?" he said this time, taken back. He was certain that he'd had that right.

"I go every year," Alfred said and preoccupied himself by looking at some people walking by outside.

"Then I was correct. Why did you say no?"

"Because you're annoying, now shut up. I can't hear myself think," Alfred glared and thought about all the different ways he was going to bug his boss for the next four years.

"You think?" Russia asked, looking positively flabbergasted. Alfred scowled at him.

"_Haha_. You're so funny," he rolled his eyes making Russia chuckle in delight.

"I could not help myself. Perhaps I am a bit of a joke teller, as you have pointed out." Alfred chose not to say anything and glanced at the clock painfully. It had only been five minutes. Damn. He heard Russia shifting in front of him and got a waft of whatever it was that clung to his coat; it smelled something of vodka, coal, and frost. "But in all seriousness, you have yet to tell me why you missed this particular conference when you have never skipped before."

Alfred stilled and stared intently out the window, wanting nothing more than to bust open Russia's lip with the chair he was sitting in.

"America?"

He still ignored him. _Good job, Alfred. You can do this. You're not in over your head. You can outlast Rasputin over there. He's nothing more than a solidified form of all your fears and doubts that has somehow come into being and wants to know more about you for some unknown reason._

It was then that some sort of pressure was applied to his forehead and Alfred froze. He looked with wide, horrified eyes to see Russia placing his hand against his forehead with his lips pursed. "Are you ill?"

He shot back with more force than a kangaroo, his heart beating a mile a minute. _REDALERTREDALERT You can't do this, you can't do this, you can't do this! He touched - he was - oh Lord, it was with a glove but he still touched your sensitive face!_

Alfred stared with a hand to his face like a frightened little bunny below a growling lion. If the lion was on steroids and had skin like icicles and the dead eyes of a shark. "W-wha - wh-wha…wh…"

Russia craned his neck at the expression he was receiving before giving a reassuring smile. "What is wrong? You look like you have just seen a ghost."

For the first time in his life, Alfred might have actually preferred a ghost to this. Russia he was used to. The red bastard had always hated him as much as Alfred returned the sentiment. But never in his life had Russia gone out of his way to _touch _his _fucking face. _That was just unheard of. It had to be illegal for someone like _that _to touch someone like _him._ Where were the police or secret service when he needed them most?

As Russia watched Alfred sputter in disbelief he began to make a pleased hum from the back of his throat. "Are you sure you are fine? Your face is awfully pale, comrade."

Alfred shook in his chair and glared at the nation across from him in confusion. There was something strange about the way Russia was acting today. And his eyes…What was up with his eyes? Russia leaned back into his seat and let his eyes dance across the stitching at the base of his scarf.

"It has been on my mind for some reason for a while now, and I can not seem to help but wonder. The conference was July first which makes your reply all the more strange. Why would you miss it when you would be back in time for your over-exaggerated party on the fourth?"

Alfred managed to regain his voice enough to gape at the curious Russian. "I've never invited you to my party."

Russia blinked. "No. I have never received an invitation. But you Americans really know how to get intoxicated on large events so I guess it is reasonable for you to have never noticed before."

Okay.

That was freaky. Russia showed up to his birthday party?

"Plus it is also common sense that you would throw your party on the exact day of you Declaration, right?" Russia's eyes twinkled with amusement at the way Alfred was squirming around in discomfort at these new findings.

"H-how long have you been coming to my birthday?" Alfred asked, almost dreading to hear this answer. But he needed to know. It was like watching a bad movie that, even though it was horrible enough to sell half of your soul to the devil (or known by another alias as Russia) to get back those two hours wasted, you needed to see the ending. Not wanted; _needed_.

Russia pretended to mull this over. "Fifty-two years now."

Oh, there it was. That spiraling vortex of unimaginable repulsion pulling at his gag reflex. Alfred placed his hand over his mouth and forced himself to breathe. Fifty-two years…Fifty-two years and he hadn't noticed someone as big as Russia lumbering around his backyard? Perhaps it wasn't such a good idea to get smashed every year.

"I think I'm going to be sick."

Russia flung his scarf away, smiling but not letting it reach his eyes. "Not over here, please."

Alfred crumbled over and took large gulps from his coffee in a desperate attempt to burn away his stomach lining. Maybe if his stomach sack wasn't held together his sick would leak all over his insides instead of up his throat and through his nose where it was heading. And to think. His birthday used to be something enjoyable to look forward to.

"Please do not be such a drama queen, America. Although you usually are, I find myself not in the mood to deal with it today," Russia said and watched Alfred shoot him the deadliest glare he could muster. When his stomach was under control, Alfred sat back up and focused on the scalding burns on his tongue from his coffee rather than the remains of nausea that Russia left over.

"Don't do that anymore."

"Do what?"

"You know what I mean. Don't come to my parties anymore. If you're not invited then you're not invited!" Alfred huffed but paused when thinking it over. He looked at Russia with his deep, blue eyes before shrugging. "Actually, next year I want you to drop by. I always wanted a piñata. Although I don't think I'll want what falls out of you, it would still be a fun gesture."

Russia chuckled darkly and continued to busy his hands with his scarf. "Perhaps I will take you up on that offer."

Alfred continued to drink his coffee to preoccupy himself and dared another glance at the clock. Yet again it was not quite a "sufficient" time for Russia to work. He scowled and glanced at Russia who was watching him with intrigue. A smile tugged at his lips replacing nausea with dread. "You are very skilled at evading questions."

Alfred took a deep breath and settled into his seat, hands actually starting to sweat under his gloves. Only a moment ago it felt like he was in a blizzard, now he felt like he was on the sun. "Why do you want to know so much? I don't see the big deal, or why I should tell you for that matter. If you were so curious why did you take two months to bring this up, or is your memory so bad that it becomes blotchy after binge drinking that cleaning detergent you call alcohol?"

Something stirred beneath Russia's eyes and his face tensed teasingly. "It is a secret."

The shiver that traveled up Alfred's spine and the nervous swarming of hornets in his gut wasn't something unexpected. It did, however, piss him the fuck off. Very much so. Alfred scowled and plopped back against his chair with a smugness that was half forced. "Well mine is a secret too."

Russia sat up and outwardly laughed, eyes dancing with something akin to glee. Alfred felt uncomfortable and didn't see what was so funny about this situation but just watched his creepy business partner hide behind his fist and chuckle. "I am thrilled," Russia finally announced.

Alfred paused before narrowing his eyes cautiously. "Why?"

"Because you are much more enjoyable than I remembered," Russia explained loving the shocked look he received from the blonde.

Alfred opened his mouth to say something before closing it. He looked like a gasping fish out of water before he shook his head and grimaced. "You're fuckin' weird," he settled on.

Russia traced the pattern of his scarf against the table, eyes lighting up. "You are full of secrets, America. I have a slight itching to crack them."

Alfred frowned into the rim of his cup but didn't say anything. This conversation was strange. It shouldn't even be happening. He shouldn't be talking to Russia like they were some old friends catching up about freaky things. At most they were colleagues (unfortunately) but even colleagues shouldn't be talking this much in such a puzzling way. He looked up curiously to see Russia watching him. "What?"

Russia shook his head before stopping his ministrations with his scarf. "Will you tell me one thing, America?" Russia asked and dipped his head in that childish manner that did anything _but_ make him appear that way. When not given an answer, he continued delicately, almost as if trying to remember something himself. Something he could no longer recall. "What was it like when you sang your first happy birthday?"

Alfred stilled and stared at the hem of Russia's scarf intently for a moment. Russia was no longer smiling that cheerful, amused smile anymore. He wore a dry one, one that didn't reach his eyes and actually sent ice down to his very core. Alfred felt like someone had stuck a syringe in him and filled his chest up with heavy lead. The small sting of anger burned around his already worn stomach lining and he felt his throat constrict. From Russia's tone he knew he was playing with him. Like some sadistic cat with a mouse before it devoured it. Alfred slowly pulled the cup away from his face before smiling back at the Russian with all the control in the world.

"Oh, I'm sorry. It looks like you're out of time."

Russia paused to look over Alfred's shoulder at the clock on the wall to see it was past five. He didn't say anything a moment before straightening up with his usual perkiness, it wrapping over his face like a mask. "How very true. Let us get to business then, shall we?"

Alfred couldn't help but feel more comfortable slipping back into their normal banter. He liked this political Russia more than the free time talker Russia. It was something predictable; something he was familiar with. There were no curve balls or distant smiles that made his head spin with this Russia. And especially little to no (preferably no) physical contact with this Russia. Yes, he liked this Russia much, much more.

Not to say that he liked Russia at all.

Goodness, no.

He'd sooner give up eating burgers forever than get along with Russia.

* * *

Alfred was on his afternoon stroll. The weather had been icy all October, but that was nothing compared to November. He walked briskly down the tepid snowy streets with a phone in his hand, jabbering away at his insistent caller. He would have been in a better mood but this particular person had decided to call him while on his way to the doughnut shop and nag him about the upcoming meeting.

Alfred sighed for what felt like the millionth time that morning. "Uh-huh. I got it, Arthur."

That low and nagging voice that sounded very much like a whining mosquito in the back of his ear emanated throughout his speaker with more words to nag him about. "And I don't want you forgetting that again. It was almost impossible to continue the last time you didn't bring it. Because of your daftness I had no choice but to go without my own the whole time."

"Yeah. Sorry."

"Be sure to pack it beforehand. I know it's only three days but you somehow managed to screw that up last time. I'm surprised you even showed up on time. How was it that you managed to show up on time but you couldn't even remember your folder?"

"I don't know," Alfred said on a reflex, so used to zoning out when England started to badger him that he just subconsciously knew where to throw in a brief response. Light spools of white fluttered from his lips into the frozen air but the calmness of the street made him enjoy it this time. This was the good kind of cold; the kind that didn't splash in your face when someone took a turn too fast with their car.

"It surprised us all. But I guess if you get one thing right, you could possibly be getting another wrong to make up for your correction."

"Uh-huh."

"_Alfred _- are you even listening to me?" England asked on a sigh.

"Of course I am," Alfred responded with a cheeky grin.

"Then what did I just say?"

"Uhm…" Alfred turned onto another street and could see the doughnut store coming into view. He could already feel his saliva glands kicking into overdrive like a Saint Bernard. "Something about plane tickets, right?" There was a distinct blow of air against the receiver of his phone and he could practically see England rubbing at his face in frustration.

"Alfred, how you manage to tie your own shoes is beyond me."

He gave a hearty laugh at the drop in England's tone. "That's why I switched to Velcro. Less complications."

"Alfred –"

"I got it, I got it. Don't worry. I've already been packed since last Tuesday and my plane ticket and passport are snuggled neatly in my underwear drawer between the socks and my briefs. I'm trying out briefs for a while because someone I know told me that they're actually quite comfortable, unlike when boxers can ride up the center if you're running around too much. It's only day six but they seem to be working quite well with me. Oh, and all of my folders, binders, notepads, and graphs are all tucked away in my briefcase which has been sitting by my front door for two days. Is that enough to get you to stop worrying?" he asked and opened the door with a snicker.

England remained silent a moment as Alfred made his way up to the counter and grinned at the woman behind it. She already knew what he wanted; he was a regular. "I didn't need to know that part about the underwear," the Briton finally answered, as if he just managed to regain organization of his brain cells. Alfred stood back as the woman began filling a pink box with doughnuts and just allowed himself to be engulfed in the smell of the freshly baked goods.

"So is that enough?" Alfred asked and gave a hefty yawn into his palm. It was _waaaay _to early to be thinking, especially when it was about being prepared to go to a convention where massive world thinking took place. Just thinking about it made Alfred's brain hurt.

"You make it sound as if I'm bothering you," England responded with an airy wave of sarcasm. Alfred snorted but could already tell just by his tone that England was smiling. He knew that tone. He knew _all_ his tones.

"Never," Alfred gasped dramatically. He looked over at the woman to see her smiling at him, box ready to be picked up. He strolled over and balanced the phone between his face and his shoulder as he fished out his wallet and began scrounging around for spare bills. "Hey listen, I gotta let you go now. I'm a bit busy at the moment."

"Doing what?" England sounded almost offended, as if he wasn't done bothering his dopey ex-brother yet.

"Important things that need my full and complete attention," Alfred said and handed the lady his money. He eagerly took the box from her and peeked inside, being hit with a tidal wave of glazed and diabetic goodness. Yes, his mouth was definitely getting a first class trip to sugar town.

"My guess is that some sort of food is involved."

Alfred paused before shutting the lid with a frown. "Noooo," he faded off and heard the scoff.

"Honestly. Are the only things you think about food and television?"

Alfred pouted and pushed the door open with his back and continued back the way he came from the icy Washington street. "No. Sometimes I think about spaceships." He laughed when England groaned at his childishness. "Well I have to go now. I have a lot to do and I can't get it done if I'm wasting my time talking to you."

England bristled. "I merely call to have a pleasant conversation with you and you –"

"What's that, Arthur? Krrrshhhh…I can't hear you that well…Krrrshhhh….'osing…'ignal….Krrr…Krrrssshhhh…."

"_Alfred_," England warned on the other end, thoroughly unamused.

"See you in a couple days! I'll remember all my stuff this time, promise. Adios." With that, he hung up his cell phone and trotted down the snow before England could start getting all over his case for hanging up on him. Halfway down the street his phone began to ring his national anthem. He looked down to see England's name appear and smiled, shoving it back in his pocket. He'd just let that one go to voicemail.

"Now. Let's get you guys home so I can finally give you the attention you deserve," he chuckled down at the box before picking up his pace. He had a lot of work to do.

For starters, that pesky world conference had creeped up again, and this time it happened to be taking place in Germany. Alfred knew, and it didn't take a genius to know, that if it was a brutal winter in the good ol' U S of A, then it was going to be one monster of a winter in Germany. The country was practically at the top of the flippin' world. It was bound to be cold in the winter. But aside from the fact that Alfred hated going to those stupid conferences, it was in two days. Two days and he would have to go from one cold place to an even colder place to talk about boring things with even more boring people who fought and spat and never ended up solving anything, only to go back and do the same thing again the next month. It really took a toll on a fella, truly it did.

But in terms of dreadful things, something managed to outweigh the conference, only just a day before his flight. Alfred had been checking his mail and one particular letter stood out from the rest. He had stared at it in the hallway for nearly an hour before the words from the sender finally sunk in.

_Russian Federation._

How odd. He rarely ever got mail from other countries; usually it was for his President. A thought came to his mind that it could have possibly got mixed up and sent to him, but that was impossible because his name was neatly written in solid black ink on the front.

_Alfred F. Jones._

How odd, indeed. With a shrug Alfred had opened it just for the hell of it to see what was inside. But he came to regret it with each word his eyes skimmed over. A mixture of disbelief and horror had pulled at him making him so confused that he just sat in the middle of his hallway and stared at the paper in his hand.

* * *

_Dear America,_

_Or should I say Alfred? Is it impolite to call you that? I would prefer to call you America but I never know what kind of people you have wallowing around and peeking through the mail. No matter, I will simply call you America, for it is what I want to call you. Anyhow America, I am sure you will be surprised in getting this letter. I wish I could see your face when you open this but sadly I am on near the other side of the planet. Although, if you scream from getting this I will probably hear it since you have such a craterous mouth. Perhaps one day it will be the ninth wonder of world, yes?_

_But I am getting off topic, am I not? I am not entirely certain of why I am sending this. I think it is 'spur of the moment' as you Americans say. Yet another American phrase from my lips. You have truly snuck in like a virus! I was sitting at my desk doing my work when I found myself remembering that exquisite evening at the coffee shop. It was just a passing thought but then I began to dwell on it. Oh, how embarrassed it made me. I am glad for our distance because of this. You would surely poke fun at me if you were to see me now._

_As I have enjoyed our spontaneous conversation before, and the world gathering is coming up in a few days, I would like for us to get together and chat about various things that suit our fancies. I hope that is alright with you because I am looking forward to it. Please try not to get yourself too excited and overlook your duties. I know that is a large and impossible thing to ask, but I will still voice the suggestion none the less._

_Sincerely,_

_Russia

* * *

_

How _very_ odd, indeed.

* * *

It was a beautiful day in Germany. The icicles hung from the rooftops like little daggers set precariously to impale random passerbies with no such luck gracing them. The streets were shielded over with ice that could make a car lose control and slam head-on into a business building inconveniently placed next to such a hazardous intersection. And the snow sat in sparkling piles in the sunlight that could blind anyone choosing to ride a bike today of all days and make them have a run in over a squirrel or with a fellow biker.

Yes, if today in Germany was described as any day, beautiful would certainly be it.

Ivan hummed an old Russian tune under his breath as he walked down a corridor of the building Germany had decided to host this month's conference in. He smiled at the various countries walking by him, giggling when a few turned around and headed down a different hallway. Such amusing people that attended this gathering. He tucked his chin into his treasured scarf and took a sniff with his large nostrils to soothe him over before the squabbling that usually took place once these things commenced would start.

Most of the time it was enjoyable to watch, but other times it bothered him to no end. Why the leaders of their respected countries sent them off to fight amongst themselves for three days was beyond him. But Ivan never complained. He was merely given a three day vacation every month enough to see the world that lay beyond the vast emptiness of his arctic tundra.

He pushed open the doors just in time to see a boot fly past his face. Ivan blinked and followed the boot until it plopped against the hard tiled flooring. He turned around curiously to see a sight that wasn't unfamiliar to his violet eyes. That England fellow was fighting with the Frenchman about something or other that he really had no interest in. And judging from his left half being shorter than his right, Ivan was clear to assume that it was England's shoe. He ignored it and shut the door, the shoe going out of sight.

He began to pick up his humming once more when passing by the two nations pulling at each other's hair before sitting down in a seat along the long table. His eyes scoped out all of the faces in the room and – My, oh my! – what was this? Ivan sat up in his seat to see that America had actually made it in before the key speaker had started. Well, what were the odds of something so wonderful happening upon arriving his first day in Germany?

Germany certainly was _beautiful_.

The American looked half-dead, eyelids drooping like wet umbrellas over his blue eyes – as blue as the ocean or the sky, Ivan wasn't sure. He was fiddling with a pamphlet that he'd taken from that Japanese nation and was making it into some sort of paper airplane. Ivan watched in slight fascination that he actually looked like he _knew what he was doing._ Well that shouldn't have been a surprise, he supposed, because of America's strange enthrallment with airplanes.

Ivan smiled to himself before taking his own pamphlet on the course of the conference and began to attempt folding it himself. He hadn't made many paper airplanes but after a moment he got the gist of it. Holding it up to see how satisfactory it was, Ivan carefully took out a pen and wrote in big bold letters on the inside of the plane: _DOBRAYA UTRAH._

He giggled with excitement and let the plane take flight, it fluttering ungracefully due to the disproportionate wings. To his surprise – and slight delight – the front corner stuck right in America's eye, evading the glasses and all. He watched as America shot back with a yelp, Japan looking up curiously to see what was the matter now. He watched America remove the plane and look around, America's eyes landing right on Ivan. Ivan smiled politely and gave a small little wave which wasn't returned. Well, not with a wave, anyway. It was returned with the one finger salute and a glower.

America didn't even bother to try reading the message inside. He just crumpled the plane and threw it over his shoulder, going back to his own project as if the whole incident never happened. Aside from his irritated red eye.

Oh, America. When he was interested in something he tended to stick with it, didn't he? The thought made Ivan's smile a bit broader as he twiddled his thumbs patiently for the meeting to start. He was eager for the meeting to start today.

Because once the meeting could start, it could end. And when it ended, he could go and get some terrible tasting coffee.

Something that was becoming his new drink as of late. His new drink for his new hobby.

Oh, how he hoped America would last longer than the last one.

* * *

A/N: Read and Review if you would even though it is a pointless story with a very broad plot.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you to everyone who took the time to review the first chapter, considering how basic, plain, and _long _it was. I really appreciated that.

A lot more Russia in this chapter.

Enjoy.

* * *

Something was strange.

Like, no, _seriously_. Something was horrendously strange.

Not strange like seeing someone with pink hair and rainbow leggings at some fancy-pantsy five star French restaurant, or strange like eating mayonnaise straight from the jar with a salad tong. It was more like the kind of strange when going to a farm and seeing a cow with three heads or hearing that Celine Dion was in the top fifty best selling artists of the year.

Yeah. It was the uncomfortable, unnerving kind of strange that Alfred was feeling. And he didn't feel that all too often; minus all the times where he had to eat England's food.

It was weird. Maybe he was feeling this foreboding off-putting feeling because he _actually _managed to come into the meeting early. He was still pretty tired and didn't really want to deal with anything, so that could be it, right? Alfred probably just woke up on the wrong side of the bed or something.

Actually his bed essentially had bedbugs so he'd slept on the floor, but that wasn't the point.

The point was, throughout the whole presentation on an in depth journey into _The Wonders and Blunders of Current Global Economics_ as it was so cleverly named, Alfred could feel pressure distinctly on one of his temples. No matter which was he turned his head, if he put his hand up, if he stuffed his face between his arms to take a light nap (always interrupted by Japan), he would still feel that tiny dot of strain on his face growing with each and every minute.

And to put it frankly, he was feeling a bit paranoid.

It was like someone was boring a hole in his head and he couldn't get them to stop. Alfred squirmed and fidgeted and didn't even bother to pay attention the entire time. So when the meeting finally drew to a close, Alfred was more exhausted than when he came in. He gave a hefty yawn into his hand and began to slop his papers and folders and the like into his briefcase with barely contained jitters. Was this what it felt like to be stalked? he wondered absentmindedly before rubbing one of his tense shoulders.

"You look terrible," Japan put bluntly as he glanced over at his friend with little sense of sympathy. Because of all Alfred's shuffling around, it had taken a toll on his concentration as well.

"Thank you for pointing that out. I wasn't aware of that, but it's always good to hear from a friend," Alfred muttered into his briefcase before giving a sarcastic eye-roll. Japan huffed and buckled his own case.

"Just out of plain curiosity, America-san –"

"I keep saying call me Alfred. _Alfred_. We're friends now, remember?"

Japan shifted awkwardly, a little embarrassed at this whole _talk to your friends less formally – you're not a social cripple anymore – _thing,before continuing once more. "Alfred-san…Why were you so anxious today?"

Alfred opened his mouth to say something before just letting his jaw flap there in the wind. For when he looked up for no particular reason, he met eyes with Russia, standing across the room smiling at him behind a few other former Soviet nations.

Well.

What the _fuck_?

"America-san?" Japan inquired confused at his friend's frozen posture, leaning over to get a better look at his face.

"Alfred," Alfred corrected him on a reflex, brow pulling together and glaring at the human icicle. Japan made a displeased noise and snapped his fingers at his mistake again.

"I _will_ get this right," the Asian muttered under his breath before a wisp of air blew some strands of his dark hair from his face and he was left alone with nothing but a large scent of burgers and anxiety. Japan watched with confusion as Alfred led himself to the doors in a stiff and hardy pace. "Alfred-san? Where are you going?"

Alfred grinned at him quickly before turning back around and walking. "Meeting's over, Kiku! People to go, places to see…Wait, that's not right…Well it's something like that anyways." He waved over his shoulder.

Japan blinked before frowning. "We were in the middle of a conversation," he said but Alfred was already out the doors and not paying attention anymore. Japan slumped and shook his head. Of all the people he managed to make friends with, he chose _that _person? Maybe he had been making some bad judgments in his not so long ago past.

Alfred continued down the long corridor in search for the elevator. He just wanted to get something to eat and go back to his hotel to watch celebrity kickboxing or whatever was on German television at night. He felt his stomach growling and patted it in reassurance; the poor little guy barely had anything to eat all day because of that stupid black-hole-sucking-his-face feeling distracting him. He quickened his pace and hopped in right as the elevator doors were opening.

He took a spot next to Iceland and Finland. Alfred leaned over and clicked the button for the bottom floor and waited as China also stepped inside. He scooted over and let the shorter nation choose his floor of preference before looking up and freezing. Alfred sucked a sharp breath back into his lungs as he saw Russia making his way towards the elevator with Latvia, chatting away like nothing was wrong to the small shivering nation.

Alfred frowned and quickly leaned over to tap his button again. Why weren't the doors closing by now? _Hellooo. _Wasn't that their job? To close and take people up and down until they got motion sickness, throwing up all over the back corner where no one ever seemed to want to stand because of its salty smell. The clacking of Russia's boots echoed like some terrible music sonata that played on a loop from the old record player in Alfred's mind; the one that housed any and all dreadful sounds that he encountered once upon a time, never wanting to hear again, France moaning being one of them.

He pressed the button more insistently, ignoring the look of confusion China shot him before the Asian followed Alfred's line of vision and stiffened just as quickly. Both of them began to practically pound at the buttons until the elevator _finally _gave a beep of recognition and the doors began sliding shut. Just before the doors were fully closed, Russia peered up and waved politely, making solid eye contact with Alfred. With that he was gone and Alfred was now alone with his thoughts in the most awkward elevator ride ever. Why did Germany insist the meeting should be on the twelfth floor anyways?

Alfred shifted and slowly began to regain all composure, trying to forget the fact that Russia waved at him. _Again. _What was with that guy and waving at him all of the sudden? Was it some new mind game or did he just coincidentally have his arm fall asleep every time he made eye contact with him and had to shake it around to wake it up making it _seem _like a wave? But it wasn't a wave. Alfred was _positive _that it wasn't a wave. He glanced curiously down at China beside him who was staring intently at the doors with his lips pursed in a thin, tight line.

Alfred straightened up. Okay, so it was a wave. Big deal…It wasn't like he was going to ever wave back…

Eeeuugghhh. Gross! Why was Russia _waving at him_?

The elevator clicked open and Alfred would have been lying if he said everyone present didn't scoot out of the enclosed box as quickly as they could. The air was just so suffocating – all because of Russia (_again_) – and Alfred was glad to rid himself of it. He parted ways, not even bothering to ask China why he had made such a scrunched up face; he was pretty sure he had a good idea why. Once away from his daily obligation for his nation, Alfred walked down the street in search for a place to eat.

He pulled his coat tighter and squinted against the chilly wind nipping at his cheeks. No later than ten minutes did he find a small little restaurant that he was eager to get inside, the food smelling like heaven. It was a popular place and even as he ordered his food and waited with his number, he still looked around a little nervous that he wouldn't find a spare table. It looked like the only ones left were outside and no way in hell was he eating out there. Alfred's food finished and was placed on the counter with a 'ding' from the bell and he took his tray in search for a table.

Alfred muttered under his breath certain expletives that he hoped the other people in the restaurant couldn't understand as every single table seemed to be occupied. He looked down at his tray of food and sighed. Well what was he supposed to do now?

When all hope seemed lost and Alfred thought he would have to eat at one of the frozen tables outside, an airy voice broke through some of the clustered conversations rumbling around the air.

"You look like you are lost."

Alfred blinked and turned around trying to locate where the voice had come from. Was it even talking to him? He glanced around the restaurant before stopping, eyes snagging on a head of pale-blonde hair. Oh come on. Seriously. _Seriously?_ Russia sat at a small, two-seater table with a cup nestled between his large hands, violet eyes perceiving Alfred in amusement as he stood dumbly in the middle of the room. Russia craned his neck and squinted his eyes in a pleasant little smile that Alfred knew was anything _but_. "Your food is getting cold, is it not?"

Alfred didn't move, his eyes glancing around once more for another spare table. Anything to get what he thought he was about to do out of his mind. "Please," Russia said and pushed the chair across from him back with the bottom of his shoe. "You may borrow my spare chair for the time being." Alfred looked back at him and appeared calm on the outside, but on the inside he was rampaging and pulling his hair out and screaming loud enough to break glass.

Russia tilted his head a bit and raised his eyebrows when he received no response. "Are you alive?" he asked jokingly.

Alfred blinked and scowled before turning his back to the human icicle. "I'm eatin' outside," he mumbled and made his way for the door with heavy dread. If Russia hadn't been such a time traveler and hadn't taken _Alfred's _table, then he wouldn't have to be forced into the snow and eat like some loner in the rapidly growing dark.

"Oh? Well if that is what you wish," Russia uttered with a shrug. He grinned knowingly at the back getting farther and farther away from him, Alfred not looking like he was going to stop for anything he said. Russia snickered; not stop for anything, huh? "Have fun enjoying your meal out in the freezing cold then."

Alfred's feet stuttered for a moment before he flinched. His momentary pause was short lived and he continued towards the door stubbornly.

"Be sure to wipe the frost and water from your table. It would be uncomfortable to wear soggy clothes for the rest of the day, but I am sure you would not mind."

Alfred winced and stopped again, this time a bit longer, his shoulders slumping at each and every word the Russian spoke. Russia giggled. One more should do it.

"Are you aware that under extreme temperature shifts, a person's skin could literally freeze to a surface? It is very interesting, in fact. When going to pull it from the frozen surface, the skin is melded down with ice so strong that the skin actually gets ripped from the person's body –"

"_Alright!_" Alfred growled, eyes wide from the mental images Russia was parading around in his brain. With locked joints and a chest full of already forming regret, he turned around and stormed over to Russia's table, his tray slamming against it. "Just shut up with that peeling skin talk. I can't – I'll lose my appetite."

Russia rolled the cup against his gloved palms and watched as Alfred began to pull his gloves from his hands and droop his wet coat over the back of his chair. "I somehow doubt that," Russia commented and relished the glare he received. Honestly, Alfred was so very amusing. He watched curiously as Alfred began to grab his fork and poke around at some sort of salad thing on his plate before abandoning it for his sandwich. Russia continued to stare even as the minutes started to pile up and Alfred made no sign to start a conversation.

"How did you like the meeting?" Russia asked pleasantly and stopped his rolling of his warm cup under his palms.

"Hn," Alfred gave a noncommittal grunt of a reply. He wasn't in the mood to talk to Russia. He would sit across from him, but that didn't mean he had to talk to him. Haha, take that you slimy snowman!

"It was very informative, do you not agree?"

Alfred gave a shrug, eyes still glued to his drink, attempting in vain to read the German ingredients.

Russia continued on with a smooth and inquisitive voice, much like a light breeze on a tepid summer day. "You agree with me?" Alfred was a bit irked at the following thick silence, so much so that he had to raise his head a fraction of an inch to peer into Russia's expectant eyes.

Alfred scowled. "Sure, yeah. Whatever." He took another bite of his sandwich and went back to the task of reading German. Russia smiled knowingly and tilted his warm beverage with a (seemingly) lighthearted chuckle. Alfred was convinced Russia couldn't do _anything _lighthearted. One would need a heart for that first.

"I think you are humoring me, America. I hope you realize that that is very rude."

Alfred chewed slower and raised his head with a guarded glare. "How'd you figure?" he asked with his mouth full, crumbles flicking across the table. Russia looked slightly annoyed at the food vestiges before brushing them aside with tight lips.

"You were barely paying attention."

Alfred stared.

"I am sure you could ask your Asian friend and he would agree with me. You were too busy wiggling around and chewing at your fingernails. Are they stumps now, I must ask?" Russia inquired and reached out to pull up one of Alfred's hands like he was a prince about to greet a princess. Alfred blinked owlishly before wrenching his hand back and swallowing in one painful gulp. He choked and took a sip from his drink before wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

"Well if you were so busy watching me eat my hand, then I can say that you weren't paying attention either!" Alfred accused and stuck his nose up confidently. Or maybe it was spitefully – who could really differentiate emotions anymore?

Russia crinkled up his nose in a cat-like smile, an infinitesimal spot of teeth showing. "True. However, unlike you I possess the ability to multitask."

Alfred licked the corner of his mouth with a skeptical gaze before wrapping his hand around his fingers protectively. Now it wasn't the insult that bothered him…well, okay, the insult _did _bother him. But it was not the main source of discomfort spiraling around in his belly like the tires on a bike picking up their pace when going down a hill. Blue eyes flitted up to perceiving violet and Alfred took a large scoot back in his chair. "_You_," he muttered, almost enlightened.

Russia let loose a tiny hum, excited that Alfred had picked up on it so quickly. Alfred chewed at his lip in annoyance. "You're what caused that – you – _you're_ –" he sputtered searching for the right words. _He_ was the cause of that _black-hole-eating-his-face_ feeling. Russia's eyes were like miniature imploded stars with their own gravitational pull that had an insatiable taste for Alfred's facial beauty. Alfred scowled at the Russian who started to look a little bemused when Alfred didn't comment any further. How low could one person go?

"Didn't _you know _that it's rude to stare?" Alfred shot back, trying to ignore the unnerving crawling of his skin under Russia's eyes.

"I did not stare. Please do not be so vain and think that I would focus my sole attention onto you when I should be doing work. There is a time for frivolity and a time for business."

"Yours intermingle apparently because you just admitted you were _staring_ –"

"Not staring. Merely taking occasional glances for specific periods of time," Russia corrected without batting an eyelash.

Alfred blanched. "_That's staring_!"

Russia lolled his head to the side and feigned confusion. "Is it now?" he queried with a downy, childish voice. "Well then, that would call for an apology I assume."

Alfred grumbled and took another large bite of his sandwich wanting nothing more than to leave the restaurant asap. He took another swig of his drink before quirking an unamused eyebrow. "Well?" he asked expectantly. Russia inspected his glass with mock interest.

"Hm?"

"Don't you owe me an apology for your overall freakishness?"

Russia chuckled lightly and traced the intricate designs of the snowflakes against the cup. "Oh, you thought I was serious?" he asked in delight making Alfred clench his teeth. "I suppose that is my fault. Now if you rethink my words, you will understand that I never said I would give an apology, only that you deserve one."

"What's the fuckin' difference?" Alfred asked on a breath.

"That I am not such a gifted actor such as yourself, what with all of your overzealous movies and love for all things fiction, and cannot force something that I do not mean when I already know you will not appreciate the sentiment."

Alfred stared in disbelief at the roundabout way Russia made it known that he was a jerk. Who knew there was a long way to say _Don't hold your breath. I'm the King of all Douche-baggery._

He looked away and poked at his salad thing again silently wondering why on God's green earth did he order a _salad._ Maybe he was more distracted than previously thought. Another handful of silence passed before Russia tightened his scarf around his neck.

"I have a question for you, dear America." Alfred looked up apathetically at the way Russia's voice rang with endearment. Russia blinked and his bangs shuffled against the light caress of resting on his lashes. When Alfred made no move to answer and actually shoved more food into his mouth, Russia continued on without a care in the world. "Why do you wear glasses?"

Alfred continued chewing and wondered to himself if Russia was really a moron. "Are you serious?"

Russia gave a wilted smile and tapped his fingers against the edge of the recyclable cup. "Like you would not believe."

Alfred shrugged and took a hesitant bite of his salad. "Bad eyes."

"Well of course I am aware of that. I became certain of that by all of the garbage you mistake for food that you put into your mouth."

"Then why didn't you _correct _me?" Alfred asked sarcastically only to receive a cheeky smile from his unwanted dinner guest.

"Because, silly. Little children must learn from their own mistakes." Alfred actually wanted to cringe from how creepy that sounded (Russia's voice didn't help the effect either) but managed to choke back the bile rising. Russia hummed in thought and looked intriguingly at the cup resting in his hands with the care of that of a mother tending to her baby. "As I was saying, I could not help but think that even though you have poor eyesight, you continue to wear glasses." Russia peered up curiously to find the blonde chewing blankly at him. "What I mean to say is why not adapt with your time as you are prone to do and get contacts or laser eye surgery?"

Alfred fixed Russia with a look that could only read _You're an idiot. Like, no, really. You really are._

"You're stupid."

Russia paused and stopped his exploring fingers around the edge of his cup that looked surprisingly untouched. "I am sorry. I did not quite catch what you just said."

"You're stupid," Alfred reiterated without a second-thought. He huffed and swallowed another large bite and solidly frowned at the simple, stupid giant across from him. "I wear them because it's a part of my history and I want to. Only girls wear contacts or guys hiding too deep back in the closet to have a good relationship with their masculinity. And laser eye surgery is a waste of money and only people who are too self-conscious or like to cut corners will get that so you're stupid. Now shut up."

He casually turned his attention back to his half finished meal and ate in silence. Russia watched and took in every word with the utmost care before giggling to himself. "I never took you for the sentimental type."

Alfred grunted and took another sip from his drink. Russia leaned in on his elbows and craned his neck down to get a better view of Alfred's face. Said blonde glanced up and glowered when coming no more than a foot away from Russia's coy smile.

"Do you keep any other old things for sentimental value besides your glasses and crusty jacket?" Russia inquired. Alfred pointedly tried to ignore him to the best of his abilities. It was really hard; no lie. Russia rocked gently from side to side in thought. "Like an old pen set or a photograph or," Russia paused and his smile darkened just a bit, eyes amused but no real smile resting there. Alfred chanced a glance up curiously and guarded himself against that smile. He knew that smile from back during the Cold War. Russia chuckled and leaned in a hair. "Or perhaps a storage closet of sorts?"

Alfred felt his blood freeze as he stared in distrust into amused violet eyes twinkling with intrigue at the surprised face Alfred was apparently making. He felt his anger spike and his lip peeled back in distaste. Alfred could tell even through the haze that had started to reside over Russia's gaze like a thick fog that Russia was toying with him, and _he didn't appreciate it one bit. _The fork twirled in Alfred's fingers as he leaned back and forced a calm over his mind. No, he was just jumping to conclusions. Russia couldn't know about _that _storage room he kept in terrible shape. Only he and Lithuania knew of it, let alone saw it, and Alfred was sure his friend wouldn't splurge to Russia on the information he obtained by staying with Alfred for a while.

With that in mind, Alfred ran his tongue slowly over the top teeth and pushed his tray away, not really hungry anymore under Russia's perceiving eyes. "Nope. I think you're jumping to conclusions this time."

Russia leaned back as well and slid his index finger slowly over the lid of his cup drawing Alfred's eyes. It sent a disturbing shiver down his spine at how _sensual _the action seemed. "My mistake then," he chuckled and that familiar twinkle came back into his eyes. Alfred felt himself relax a little bit when seeing that exploring darkness of mirth disappear again, liking this playfully disturbing Russia more than the one that seemed to be appearing more frequently.

"Do you sleep with your glasses on?" Russia asked politely, turning back to the original subject.

Alfred winced. "_Why_?" he demanded. Why was Russia probing him all of the sudden? It was starting to grate his nerves.

"Well you said you prefer glasses to any alternatives. If you are willing to choose spectacles, I am just curious if you ever take them off."

"Duh. Who the heck wears glasses 24/7?" Alfred scoffed and put his gloves back on. Russia didn't seem concerned with Alfred's movements to leave soon and simply smiled at him.

"I am not ignorant to that information. You just seem to have so many strange habits, I would not put it past you to sleep with glasses on."

"Then they'd break, moron," Alfred said dully and pulled his coat from his chair.

Russia perked up a bit at that, a new curiosity swirling under his eyes. "Are these the original spectacles from Spain?" Russia asked, fascinated, and reached out to pull Alfred's glasses suddenly from his face. Alfred flinched when feeling Russia's fingers lightly stroke his face for a brief moment before the snow monster blurred around the edges.

The whole world blurred too. Oh man, he had the eyes rivaling a blind person. Alfred gaped and put a hand to cover part of his face in a vain attempt to hide his shameful eyes. Without his glasses he felt naked. And feeling naked in front of _Russia _was never good. He went to snatch them back but Russia leaned away teasingly and put them on.

"These are awful. You truly have the eyes of a nation blind to the future or common sense. That explains a lot. I would be doing you a favor by ripping them out," Russia concurred and let his smile hike his pale lips up his face when Alfred blanched, completely adverse to the idea. Truly Alfred was too adorable for words.

"Give them back," Alfred demanded and blindly reached out to snatch his glasses away in an angry huff. Russia ducked and snickered when Alfred's glove brushed some hair away from his ear. Alfred stood up on uneasy feet and growled, hand darting out again and brushing Russia's cheek. "I'm serious. This isn't funny, _Russia_." He all but spat the nation's name.

"I disagree."

"I don't care what you think – just give them back!" Alfred straightened the table quickly when he rocked it forward, plate and silverware clattering like a litter of bothered birds. "I'm not playing around here. I mean it," Alfred ordered and strained his eyes to see Russia's blurry form standing. The distinct and semi-permanent smell of vodka wafted over his nose and he had to crinkle it at how strong the smell was. Russia removed Alfred's glasses and stuffed them in a pocket inside his coat, turning his attention back to the table.

Alfred jumped when Russia shoved something inside his gloved palms, the slight buzzing of warmth reaching the thick material. Alfred blinked in a confused stupor before Russia hooked his arm around his own like he would lead a date through the town and pulled his shorter, more stunned companion out of the restaurant, not caring of the mess left behind.

"I will give your glasses back once you finish your beverage."

Alfred glanced down at the red and white blob in his hands before digging his heels into the snowy ground. Russia did not mind and continued to pull Alfred through the dark German streets, lights from cars and buildings dancing about like fireflies.

"Wai – _What_ – Why are you – S-stop, Russia, _stop_!" Alfred protested and felt himself becoming dizzy. Russia slowed his pace but did not relinquish his hold against Alfred's arm, fingers squeezing lightly against the fabric of his coat.

"I do not hear any sipping," Russia said and continued onward, heavy knee-high military issued boots sloshing against the snow he was so used to on a daily basis.

"I'm not gonna drink your sicky drink, you sicky," Alfred said stubbornly and tried to pull away from the wall beside him, also known as Russia. "Your germs are on it and I don't feel like contracting a deadly disease toni –"

"I did not touch it," Russia informed casually.

"I don't believe you," Alfred said and narrowed his eyes at a street lamp. Russia placed a leather gloved hand on Alfred's chin and guided him to his face. Alfred looked around before muttering a 'thanks' and glared harder.

"It is the truth, my friend," Russia chimed.

Alfred scowled and tore himself violently away from the larger nation, nearly falling on his butt. He straightened out and pointed at a woman walking by before Russia corrected him again and moved his arm towards him. "First off, let me say that you are not my friend. You never will be. And B, then why did you order," Alfred paused to sniff the drink only to blink in surprise and raise an eyebrow. "Coffee?" he finished, perplexed.

He could see a vague outline of the Russian against a circle of light, the sound of water splashing delicately behind him. They must be by a fountain he concluded.

He shifted and felt his fire being snuffed out bit by bit. "Why'd you buy coffee?" he asked, confused.

Russia sat back against the edge of the fountain and interlaced his fingers against his lap, ankles crossing. "It simply crossed my fancy."

Alfred palmed lightly at the dully heat the cup emitted before giving Russia's blurry blob a skeptical once-over. "Did…Did you buy this because you knew I was going to be there and that I liked coffee?" It was a long shot, a very scary long shot. The first reason because that would mean that Russia had already known where he was going even before _he _knew it. That made Alfred's throat clench in a panic at the unsettling thought. The second reason was because that would mean that Russia committed an act of kindness…towards him_. _America. _Alfred._

Whoo-boy. What was that about?

Russia's jaw tightened and his smile wavered in an uncomfortable irritation. "As I have said before, do not be so vain."

Alfred twitched before frowning indignantly. He stared down at the cup in his hands and let the briskness of the cool night nip at his neck and cheeks in the silence. Aside from Russia trying to quell his thoughts somewhere else, Alfred had the slight inkling that he had the right to be vain. It was a little too perfect. His eyes widened suddenly.

Unless…Unless it wasn't an act of kindness at all. It was an act of doing bad things to an awesome guy! That was the worst thing of _all_.

Alfred held the cup at arm's length in case poison fumes would arise from the small sipping spout and made the muscle around his cheeks melt away leaving him almost as hideously disfigured as Russia. Maybe he just wanted another freak show in their conference gatherings. Well, the joke would be on Russia, because Alfred Jones didn't go down without a fight. He'd rather die than be voted the second ugliest of everyone, Russia obviously being the first.

"I don't want it," Alfred said and tried to hand the cup back to Russia without touching him. He was a ways off anyways.

Russia sighed lightly under his breath but didn't sound particularly angry. "Why must you be so difficult?"

"I'm not difficult," Alfred pouted and huffed, his chest puffing out stubbornly.

"I believe you are. Please do not annoy me further by throwing the coffee against the cement," Russia warned with a tilt of his head. Alfred froze, fingers twitching nervously. How did he – ? Alfred stiffened and took a cautious step away from the grey blob. Oh no! Maybe it was too late. Russia was already in his mind.

Alfred gripped anxiously at his collar and took two large breaths. Alright. He wouldn't throw it on the ground, he'd just throw it –

"Please do not throw it at my face either."

Holy hound dog! Alfred gripped his free hand in his hair and ruffled wildly, eyes darting about. "So he really is in my head," he muttered under his breath in a quick burst of surprise. Russia watched the spectacle with slight amusement.

"What did you say, America?"

Alfred whipped around with a crumbling smile on his face. "N-nothing, nothing. All is good over on this side of the fountain," he said between strained teeth.

Russia rocked back against his bottom and shut his eyes, liking the soft rippling of water against his ears. When Alfred continued to stand, lost in a world of blurs and ice, Russia spoke up again, much more at peace. "I did not lie when I said I would give you your spectacles back after you have finished the contents of that cup."

Alfred remained silent and worried at his bottom lip, not liking his options. Russia had backed him into a wall it would seem. After a long moment of glaring at the cup, he slowly started to drink the lukewarm coffee, silently admitting that it wasn't so bad. And even if Russia did slip something into it, he wouldn't die. He was a nation; nations wouldn't die so easy. They'd just live through immense amounts of pain…_immense_…

"Do you often look at the stars, America?" Russia asked quietly and opened his violet eyes towards the vast plains of the sky, littered with many streams of stars to pinpoint.

Alfred remained five paces away from the Russian and continued to nurse the beverage. When Russia remained quiet and willing to wait until he received an answer, Alfred sighed against the lid. "Sometimes." There. Russia may be able to make him talk, but he wouldn't say anything more than brief answers.

"You seem like you would enjoy it," Russia continued. Alfred felt some sort of jump in his belly, unsure if he should be concerned that Russia just admitted that he thought about him, and that he thought of things he thought Alfred would like. Since when did Russia know what he would like? Alfred heard the rustle of fabric and looked at what he thought was Russia. He couldn't be too sure, but he was pretty certain. Russia was the only guy gray enough and big enough to make up the outline of a person like that. He wasn't sure if Russia was looking at him but it was best to always assume that.

"Do you know any constellations?" Russia asked curiously and ran his finger ever so lightly against the top of the water, leather glove practically unaffected.

"No."

"Have you ever?"

"A long time ago."

"What made you forget?"

"Work."

"Who taught you them?"

A face flashed in Alfred's mind – a scowling face with large eyebrows and a permanent crinkle between them – and he stopped mid-sip. Alfred stared and started to swirl the coffee in his hands, just biting at the inside of his cheek. "What's wrong with you?" he settled on.

Russia tore his eyes away from the stars and turned it towards his shivering companion. "Pardon?"

Alfred furrowed his brows and breathed evenly through his nose. "What's – what's with all the questions? Why do you care all of the sudden?"

Russia didn't say anything but continued to watch until Alfred became unnerved. "Colors, glasses, stars – why the hell does it matter? What's your angle?"

"Curiosity."

"_Bullshit_," Alfred spat and felt his fiery anger starting to stoke again. "Curiosity my ass. You've never been this curious."

"Really now?" Russia hummed and rested his palms against the cool marble beside him. "Perhaps you have never been that vigilant to notice the kind of person I am."

Alfred stilled. Was that – was that annoyance he heard? He shook his head and sauntered aimlessly, however carefully, towards Russia until he was sure he towered over him. Alfred crunched the cup in his hands and dropped it into the fountain. He set his palm straight up and reached towards the Russian. "May I please have my glasses back?" he asked blankly.

Russia stared at his hand a moment before tearing a hole through the tension piling in the air with a smile. Rustling inside his coat he pulled out the spectacles and returned it to its owner. Alfred didn't even bother saying thanks before putting them back on, the world coming into view without all the squiggles and blurs. He glanced down at Russia, illuminated by the dancing lights of the fountains, before taking a few steps back.

Wordlessly he turned, unable to withstand another moment under Russia's gaze, before stuffing his hands in his coat pockets and heading towards where he thought his hotel was. Russia didn't move from his spot on the fountain and watched Alfred's retreating back with a pungent smile.

"Do have a goodnight, dear America. I wish you pleasant dreams," Russia chuckled into his hand, overwhelmed with sudden enjoyment.

* * *

A/N: Tiny bit of Russia's interest.

R&R if you would.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Hm. I guess this story is going alright so far, don't you think? I have no idea. I was thinking it was a little boring but most of you don't seem to think so. I need to put in more Russia. He is fun to write. Lots of giggles and creepy smiles to go around. I am trying to keep up with how long chapters should be and it is troubling but I'm sure every chapter will be fairly long.

That's a good thing if you like this story, though. A bad thing if you don't, but then I guess the real question is: why are you even reading this if you don't like it?

I slipped in little cameos, even a mention of Israel since America seems to be friends with them. I think Israel would be a cute friend.

Anyways, please enjoy. Any typos I'll fix later.

* * *

Now Matthew was an easygoing guy, he was certain. And he was sure everybody else would be certain of that too...if they ever took the time to notice him…even once would be nice…or say hello occasionally…did they hate him or something…what did he ever do to _them_…

B-but the real fact of that matter was that because of his easygoingness he was able to understand people to a greater extent than – oh, say – his brother for instance. America tended to be abrasive and loud and overall inconsiderate; he was the total opposite of Matthew for goodness sake. Matthew couldn't help but sigh when crawling out of bed with such a depressing thought in the morning. He paddled his way over to the bathroom with a quiet yawn and patted his bear's head fondly who rested on his pillow.

America may have been all of those horrible things, but Matthew couldn't help but feel a little jealous of his twin. At least with an attitude like that, he left an impression. And Matthew really wanted one of those for Christmas. Santa Claus always left him a post it to his stocking saying he was always out of impressions but would inform him via email when a new stock came in. The most _impression_ he possessed – if one could even call it that – was whenever one of the handful of people who occasionally noticed him needed his assistance.

He supposed being the helpful one would be enough for the moment, even if it was still deflating whatever self-esteem he still had for social situations.

Matthew opened his bathroom door and stepped onto the cold tiles, fully intent on getting ready for the meeting in an hour when his eyes caught a blurry blob settling in his bathtub. The Canadian blinked curiously before reaching for his glasses on the countertop. He settled them on his nose and sniffed, turning indigo eyes to the blonde mass muttering behind his shower curtain. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up so fast that he could have guessed that he resembled a porcupine.

_An intruder._

There was an intruder in his bathtub!

Oh Lord, Oh Jesus. Matthew froze to the floor and clenched his hands together in concern. He'd never dealt with intruders before. Weren't hotels safer about this sort of thing or did Germans find it normal to hide in someone's bathroom at night? Chewing on his bottom lip nervously, Matthew glanced around the bathroom for anything he could use to protect himself. He spotted a bar of soap, a few towels, a toothbrush, and –

He paused before leaning over quietly and snatching the toothpaste, unscrewing the cap gently. Toothpaste could work, right? It was like pepper spray if squirted in an eyeball, _right_? He clenched the tube and took baby steps towards the grumbling person hiding in his bathtub. His knees quivered and he clenched his eyes shut when resting right in front of the teal curtain.

Oh man, this was like that movie America made. _Psycho _or something, wasn't it? Matthew shivered and hoped the person wasn't some weirdo who thought Matthew looked like their mother and was stalking him, going to stab him and watch his blood swirl down the bathtub drain when he pulled back the curtain. Matthew cursed his haircut and slender frame all of the sudden. He vowed that if he lived through this then he would shave his head and start taking steroids or something.

_Now or never _he thought and hesitantly grasped the curtain, holding the toothpaste ready to strike. With a breath he tore the material back and squirted with all his might in the person's face. A familiar yell reached his ears as he fell on the bathroom mat with wide eyes. Matthew watched as America rubbed at his face vigorously, cursing all the while.

"Mattie, what the hell, man!"

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't k-know it was – sorry! I'm – oh, Alfred – Wait. What are you doing in my bathroom?" Matthew stopped his stuttering apology to narrow his eyes at his brother who was sitting up, minty swirls vaguely still noticeable around his eyes and smeared against his glasses.

"Gosh. This stuff burns. What is – is this _toothpaste_?" America asked and took a taste from his fingertip with a raised eyebrow. Matthew watched as his brother sat up in the tub and rubbed at his squinting eyes.

"Yes. You scared me," Matthew explained and kneaded his fingers in the plush expanse of his shower mat.

"So you attack me with your toothpaste? Boy, aren't you the modern day Rambo," America grumbled and started rolling the toilet paper to wipe the remaining mint from his tingly face. Matthew sat up and crossed his legs, watching his brother's curious antics before adjusting his glasses.

"What are you doing in here, Alfred?"

America kicked the toilet seat open and leaned over to toss the used paper inside the bowl. He flushed it and rubbed a hand through his cornflower hair before resting back against the bath nozzles. "Hiding."

Matthew blinked curiously. "…_Why_?" he asked suspiciously, knowing that it was never a good thing to have America hiding around him. With Matthew's luck he would end up being dragged into trouble with whomever his twin was hiding from. The people America hid from were always government officials, angry nations, debt collectors, and disgruntled, overworked fast food employees.

America frowned suddenly and stared at the little tins of soap at his feet. He didn't answer immediately catching Matthew off guard, a ripple of concern melding against his stomach lining. "Alfred?" America crossed his arms and sank further into the tub with an annoyed groan and covered his face with his hands muttering something about being too tired and not wanting to deal with him so early. Matthew leaned over the tub at his squirming brother lost in his thoughts before he rested his chin against the side of the tub. Who was 'him' that America was referring to?

"Are you alright?" Matthew asked and got a grunt in response. He sighed and poked his brother with a small frown. "_Alfred_," he said more insistently. America proceeded to ignore him making Matthew roll his eyes. "Fine. Don't tell me. But I need to get ready for the meeting. Whether I have to take a shower with you in there doesn't make much of a –"

"Don't kick me out, Mattie! I have nowhere else to go," America wailed and sprung up to cling to his startled twin. Matthew watched as America looked desperately at him with shining blue eyes and fingers gripping his arm like a vice. "Arthur was gone and Kiku wouldn't let me inside. I don't have anywhere else to go except France but I can't do that. He helped raise you so you know where I'm coming from! _Maattieee_ –"

Matthew sputtered and finally managed to wriggle free from his brother and plop on the bathroom tiles. "Okay, okay. You can stay, just please don't start crying…"

He rubbed at his eyes and heard a sniffle from above him before it was silent once more. "I don't cry," America mumbled stubbornly and stepped out of the bathtub. Matthew stared up at him when America offered a minty hand that the Canadian accepted easily. He was pulled to his feet and followed curiously after America who sat down on his bed and ran a hand through his hair.

"Why are you hiding?" Matthew asked again, glancing down at his bear who hadn't seemed to be disturbed at all from America's minor outburst.

America stiffened and looked like just being reminded of why he was in this particular hotel room hurt his brain. America took a few reassuring breaths before smiling up at Matthew. The Canadian felt weary at that look, shining in all its mischievous glory.

"Because I need you to do me a favor."

Matthew braced himself against the look piercing his face and making his stomach a jumble of nervous knots. He shook his head slowly and twined his fingers together, starting to pull at them in slight distress. "Oh, I don't know Alfred –"

America shot up from the bed and surprised his brother by gripping his shoulders, face hovering but inches from his face. Matthew gulped and stared surprised into his brother's glinting blue eyes. "Please, Mattie. I really need you for this pal. I can't go out there alone with that psychopath looking for me. You wouldn't make me do that, would you? Not to your sweet, adorable brother."

Matthew narrowed his eyes hesitantly and chewed against his lip like a beaver does bark from a tree. "Who are you talking about?"

America's fingers dug deeper into his skin and he withheld a wince. America's voice dripped with paranoia making Matthew stare in disbelief when the word tumbled in a bitter hiccup from his brother's throat. "_Russia_."

"Russia? Wh…Why – Wait, I'm not getting this, Alf – _Russia_?" Matthew garbled and tried to squirm out of his brother's grasp which was unrelenting. He started trying to head for the bathroom to lock himself in, knowing full well that he didn't want to participate in whatever America had up his sleeve. America whined and clung desperately until they were both on the floor, one panicking and seeking his bear's help. "I don't want any part of this, Alfred! If this is another Cold War thing then you can get yourself out of it without my help – _please let go_."

America huffed and shook Matthew's hand away from his face with a jerk of his head and pinned him halfway to the carpeting to stared him down. "But you helped me last time."

"That was different," Matthew weakly protested and looked away. "That involved mass weaponry and people's lives were on the line –"

"_My_ life is on the line," America warned with a frown. Matthew faltered slightly and peered cautiously back up at his twin.

"…Your life is always on the line," he muttered. America settled back on his calves and let Matthew sit up, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. After a moment of silence and avoiding America's thick, demanding stare, Matthew whimpered slightly and sighed. "What did you do to him this time?"

America furrowed his eyebrows. "_Nothing_," he spat and crossed his arms. "He's just…I don't know. I think he's following me."

"Why?"

"If I knew that I woulda told you a long time ago. He's just been everywhere I've been. I mean, ever since I got here he's everywhere I am – a step _before _I do it. It's really freakin' me out. I couldn't even leave the lobby because he's standin' by the fuckin' doors," America said with poorly contained nausea.

Matthew picked at the carpeting below him before speaking quietly. "Are you sure you didn't do anything to make him mad?"

"How should I know? Russia's not someone you can analyze. He gets upset with the stupidest things."

Matthew sighed. "So you probably did make him mad. He must just want to rectify it by cornering you when you're alone or something." He couldn't help but pity his insensitive brother at the shiver that wracked his form. Matthew placed his hand gently against America's and watched as America peered curiously down where they were connected. "I'll help."

America's head shot up to his with wide eyes. Matthew's breath caught a moment in his throat before he shook his head and withdrew his hand to rub at his face. "B-but just this once…I don't want to get looped into whatever problems you've caused." The bear hug that nearly snapped his spine in half wasn't unexpected but he didn't have enough time to brace himself for it. America grinned against his brother's neck before standing up abruptly leaving his crippled twin on the floor.

"Thanks a bunch. I knew I could count on you, Matt!"

"Yeah, yeah," Matthew groaned and attempted to stand. He ended up carefully making his way over to a chair and sat down like a brittle, broken ornament. "So what did you have in mind?"

His brother whipped around with a terrifying grin that made Matthew regret his agreement to lend a helping hand.

"You're going to distract him."

Matthew blinked his big doe eyes and let his mouth hang open. America smiled and hoisted his thumb to point at his chest.

"By pretending to be me."

* * *

What a wonderful morning it was on Ivan's last day in Germany. The brief conferences the nations held that were only but a few days had started to come to a close putting not even a damper on his cheery mood. He cherished each day he awoke, not for the current events and global problems that would be discussed, but for the amusement soon to follow afterwards. Three days – three simple days but they were wonderful days full of America's unlimited energy and intriguing faces and colorful language.

He certainly didn't disappoint when it came to amusement.

But alas, all good things must come to an end (including his personal time with his new hobby). Yes, he could always call America on his telephone or leave sweet little messages through e-mail, but that was nothing compared to being up close in person when the blonde tripped over Ivan's foot – which was just merely an unlucky occurrence…really, only a delightful _coincidence_ – and fell flat on his face, or seeing his face crinkle up in that enjoyable way when reading his notes that he ordered Latvia to pass across the table.

Ivan couldn't help the eager tremor that wracked his shoulders and flexed his fingers at the thought of waiting another month to see America's chipper and oh so stupid face again.

Ah, speaking of said idiot – Ivan peeked up from the hem of his bangs that dusted against his eyelashes at a small, shivering man ducking occasionally behind random hotel patrons. Ivan smiled and chuckled to himself. America was still so very amusing, even at this hour of the day. He casually threw his scarf over his shoulder and smoothly trotted over to where America was _hiding _and waved.

"Pryvet, dear America."

He heard the blonde squeak, seeming to shiver even more and hold a hand up to his face. "H-h-hello Russia…"

Ivan blinked curiously and tilted to peer around the person America was hiding behind. America scrambled away to another person, Ivan following him leisurely.

"Is something the matter? You appear to be acting stranger than usual." Ivan pulled back a chair only for America to move away and put his jacket hood on. This was peculiar indeed. Where were the vulgar words or flinchy facial contortions?

"I-I'm fine…" America assured and proceeded to move out of the hotel. Ivan easily caught up without breaking a sweat with such large legs of his, hand clasping onto one of America's shoulders that seemed much daintier then the last time he had grabbed onto him to frighten him in good humor in the dark.

"America, I – oh." Ivan stared down into the pale, frightened face of America's less amusing counterpart. What was his name…? Oh, it didn't matter really. He wasn't important. His grip seemed to tighten, a dark smiling pulling up Ivan's face at the realization that this shuddering blonde nation was wearing America's coat and gloves. "Hello person of no significance dressed as if to resemble America. How are you doing on this fine morning?"

Canada's teeth chattered and he didn't think it was because of the cold or the snow. He shrank under that expectant, icy gaze and his resolve crumbled. _Sorry Alfred_, Canada thought when he couldn't feel anything but the tundra freezing off the top layer of his skin where Russia was touching him.

"I-I-I'm…I'm g-goo…goo–"

"That is just dandy. Perhaps you could answer me a quick question before we part ways very soon."

"O-oh? Yeah, sure…" Canada managed to get out when the Russian leaned closer to his face, the air getting thicker as hefty clumps clogged his airway. It was like someone had put a plastic bag over his head.

"Where is the other person with your face only with stupider features?" Ivan asked coolly.

Canada clenched his eyes shut tighter and shrank practically against the snowy billows on the ground. He apologized to America once more before caving in. He pointed further up the street to a cab getting farther and farther away at an even pace. Ivan straightened and watched the yellow square get smaller before letting go of Canada's shoulder, the Canadian's knees unable to take the pressure anymore and snapping under him. Ivan withheld the small little laugh he wanted to let loose at America's paranoid "escape attempt" as he was sure to deem it and sidestepped the nervous nation at his feet, tears nearly spilling from large indigo eyes.

"Thank you for your cooperation. You were very helpful," Ivan smiled and giggled to himself at Canada's blubbery face. He was the spitting image of his brother that was for sure. Oh well, one little tease wouldn't hurt if he could make the boy cry. "I hope to see you at the meeting in a bit. I will certainly inform America of how helpful you were to me."

Ivan's smile nearly split his face when Canada's eyes watered, a trail of boogers accompanying the wet pools in his eyes. What was it about this face that entertained him so? "Please be safe…" he paused, still unsure of who exactly this person was.

"C-Canada," the blonde wailed and rubbed at his face, knowing America was surely going to beat him into next week for his failure.

"Whatever. Do svidaniya!" With that he was out of the quivering little Canadian's sight and heading towards his destination. It was such a beautiful morning, not even that chilly so Ivan thought walking wouldn't be such a chore to do. He enjoyed as people were kind enough to jump and scamper away to create a pathway through the crowded streets just for him. It would have been much harder to walk if he had to worm his way through a mass of people in large, poofy coats. Germans really were nice people.

He smiled and waved at them in thanks on his way to the meeting hall, all of them making such appealing faces when he made eye-contact with them. By the time Ivan had made it to his desired aim, America was just barely inside, peeling his twin's coat from his arms. Ivan snickered; traffic was very bad here as well.

"Good morning, America," Ivan greeted and watched the muscles in America's neck tense showing off his tendons like strategically placed tent poles holding up his bulbous head. America turned with stiff movements like rusty hinges and frowned in disbelief.

"How did you get here so fast? Did you take a car too?" he coughed and rolled the coat over his elbow.

"Nyet. I decided to take a calming stroll. I appreciate your interest in my safety traveling here, though." America balked and shook his head. Ivan fell into step towards the elevator with his American ally (yes, he would willingly use ally; they were _technically allies_) and continued on without a care. "That is your brother's coat, is it not?" he pointed out.

America took two large steps to create some space between the two and pressed at the elevator again. "Yeah," he uttered blandly. Ivan's eyes twinkled with interest and he hummed against his gloved hand.

"And when I ran into him a moment ago he was wearing yours. Do you generally swap with him to entertain yourself?"

"'Kay."

Even though America's answer didn't make sense, Ivan continued with an enthusiastic clap, the elevator opening in synch with his hand movements. He stepped inside and politely pressed the sought out floor. "How exciting! It is just like that movie your country made a while back. I am vaguely aware of it but have never really seen all of it. Do you know which is the movie I am referring to? The one with the girl who is now involved in terrible alcohol and judicial system problems."

"I'm aware of the Parent Trap," America said and crossed his arms. Ivan noticed the slight shiver against his arms. Perhaps he shouldn't have taken off his coat yet. "I was the one who fuckin' made it for crying out loud."

Ivan rocked back on his heels and stared up at the floors lighting up. "Who knew you thought your fictional movies were reality."

America shot a glare at him which made Ivan hold back a chuckle, knowing America wouldn't appreciate it at the moment. The elevator chimed and the doors were open, America walking briskly down the hallway. He had given up on the idea of running away in buildings, knowing it would only be futile with Ivan's long legs and that he'd look absolutely stupid running down the hall. Last time he did that it was to get away from Sweden who he accidentally spilled scalding hot coffee all over.

A rumor had started that an international game of tag was going on. For the next few conferences after that, everyone started chasing him and slapping him (he was sure even a few people threw in a punch or two) and saying _You're it!_

America shivered. "If I ever catch the guy who started that…" he grumbled bitterly under his breath.

"Hm? What did you say, America?" Ivan asked and peered down at the irritated nation, somehow seeming angrier for some reason.

"Nothing," America replied dully. He pushed open the conference doors and proceeded to move to his seat. When flinging his brother's coat over the back he plopped down ungracefully – something America was very accustomed to – in his chair with a grunt. He looked to his neighbor, that Japan fellow, and smiled. "Morning Kiku," he greeted.

Japan rustled about a bit in his seat. "Ah – Uhm…Hello America-sa–"

"_Alfred_."

"_Alfred-san_…You're here early again."

America sighed with a smile, swiping a hand through his bangs. "I'm – let's say I'm trying to change my priorities," he muttered, eyes skimming away for the briefest of seconds to a certain British man in spick-and-span attire organizing folders. The corners of his mouth twitched for a minute before he resumed his regular expression. "But I don't know how long it's going to last," he laughed.

"…I see," Japan said in a curt, delayed answer. America opened his eyes to finally notice the cautious disposition of his friend. He leaned forward a bit and waved a hand in Japan's face, inquisitive as to the cause of such a strange expression.

"Hey, you alright? You look like you're trying to pass a bottle of glass through your stomach."

Japan shifted, eyes flittering to America. "Alfred-san."

America perked up. "Yeah?"

"I suppose I am a little curious…"

"About what?"

"Why Russia has been standing beside you since you've walked in the doors," Japan said and looked back up to the smiling Russian leaning against the side of the table, not granting access for Finland to get to his seat.

America immediately stiffened and turned around in a swoop, eyes staring in surprise at the person who he expected to just go to their seat over by the other Soviet weirdos. Ivan usually did that – at least every day before this one. But there he was, leaning against the clean table, watching the brief exchange of words from Japan who looked positively tense.

Ivan smiled knowingly down at America, surely catching every small movement he'd made. What a discovery.

"How interesting," Ivan breathed and enjoyed it dearly when America stiffened uncomfortably at such a smile. Japan looked curiously towards his friend, knowing he was being left out of something.

"Is something wrong, America-san?"

"Alfred," America corrected without taking his eyes away from Ivan. "Please go away," he said, feigning politeness towards his taller guest.

"I wish to join this conversation you were just in," Ivan chirped and ran his fingers against the smoothness of the tabletop. America smacked his hand away when it got a little too close for comfort.

"No. You didn't RSVP. Now go away," America said and made a 'shoo' noise, waving his hand as if to dismiss Ivan.

"We have ten minutes before the meeting is to start. That is more than enough time to discuss the weather or a favorite sports team." Ivan leaned over, lips pulling up in eagerness when America scooted back into Japan. "I am sure even Japan here would not mind." Said nation just frowned uncomfortably towards the unwanted guest.

"We're fine. You probably have better things to do like freak other people out or sit in a dark corner watching everyone. You know, Russian stuff." America huffed and turned away. He jolted when Ivan pulled his chair back with one swift movement of his arm.

"Your lack of basic knowledge on Russian culture is unfortunate."

America set his mouth in a flat line. "Then you're the anomaly I guess."

Ivan chuckled. "Such a big word. I did not know you were aware of the meaning."

"Oh, I know it alright," America said with a pleasant smile. "It means turn around."

Ivan blinked curiously. Was this some sort of American game? Is that why America looked so pleased all of the sudden? He glanced towards Japan who was looking to where America was, understanding seeping behind his inky, black orbs. Feeling a bit on the confused side, Ivan shifted to see where America was looking and went rigid, a ball of incomprehensible fear ricocheting through his bones.

"I think your sister wants you," America laughed smugly. Ivan quickly backed up at the sight of Belarus making her way over to America's side of the table, her face clearly distraught on why her brother did not immediately sit with his other comrades. America watched as a string of distraught Russian tumbled quietly from Ivan's mouth – much like those incantations for an exorcism – before the tall nation made for the doors.

Well there was always one certain way of getting rid of Ivan; his sister always did the trick.

"Thank you," America chimed to Belarus in a sing-song voice. She scowled at him, ignoring his presence altogether and followed after her frightened brother's form. With both of the crazy Russian's out of sight for the moment, America was able to have a little bit of peace. Oh well. Ivan would be out of his hair after today anyway; no need to waste any effort.

* * *

The meeting was unproductive, more so than usual, Alfred thought. Germany's projector kept getting jammed which delayed everyone a good deal. Alfred grumbled and stretched his muscles when seeing that it was already night outside. That was an unpleasant thought. He checked his watch and silently cursed when seeing it was ten thirty. So much for exploring the town…

He put on his coat and gloves, clearly exchanged with his brother earlier. He saw the guilt flowing out of Canada in droves but decided not to get bent out of shape over it. He knew that diversion plan would only buy a few minutes anyway. Leaving the conference building, Alfred noticed that Russia hadn't even so much as glanced at him since cornered by his sister earlier that morning. It didn't bother him, but it did catch his attention.

He expected Russia to try and follow him out of the building and try to bait him into doing something stupid with that snowman but he never did.

Huh.

Alfred pulled his collar up around his chin when the wind hit his cheeks. Perhaps he was acting a bit paranoid. Maybe Russia being around so much this trip was really a coincidence. Those were real, weren't they? Like was it a coincidence when he came over to Japan's house that the video games were set out and cabinets stalked with sweet treats? Certainly. And was it a coincidence that France was always naked when drinking? Probably…

So, yes. There were coincidences and Russia must've just been a huge one.

Not wanting to walk back to his hotel and get to sleep, Alfred attempted to flag down a taxi. When a car finally stopped and pulled up to the curb he went to open the door but one smaller hand beat him to it. Alfred looked up to see the surprised face of China staring back at him.

"Oh. Hey. Uhm…" Alfred started to say but China let go of the handle and placed his hands up defensively.

"Ah – no. You…" he stopped himself and they both stood like idiots in the cold, German night. The cab driver seemed to be getting antsy, wondering why his potential customers weren't getting in.

Alfred scratched the back of his head awkwardly and gestured limply to the car. "Do you…you know, want it? I can always find another one." _Even though I don't want to. Ow, my knees are sore!_

China glanced towards the car in thought. "Oh. Well – no, you can take it, aru. I will find another."

"You sure?" Alfred asked, eyes hopeful. China nodded.

"I will be alright." With that he started to walk away. Alfred bit his lip and took another hesitant, tired look at the door before huffing.

"Hey, wait! How about we share? We're goin' the same way, right?" he offered helpfully. China stopped and turned, a bit cautious before accepting the offer. Alfred shrugged carelessly. "But if you want to freeze out here that's cool too." China perked up before shaking his head. He came forward and muttered a thank you when Alfred opened the door for him. Alfred climbed in shortly after and let the cab take off. He was immediately regretting his generosity when he noticed how awkward the silence was. Perhaps he and China should talk more often he wondered silently.

After a long while his skin started to crawl uncomfortably, fingers twitching in his lap. He turned to his Asian companion with a small smile, mouth open ready to start some sort of conversation when China beat him to it.

"How are you, aru?"

Alfred shut his mouth, smile falling, before muttering, "Good. And you?"

China let out a small breath and stared out the front window. "You seem to not like sitting beside me," he pointed out like it was as common as saying the sky was blue. Alfred seemed a bit taken aback by that and shook his head quickly, mouth tweaking up in an actor's smile.

"_What_? No way. Where'd you get that idea?"

China ran his fingers over the material of his pants before sighing with a small smile. "Your posture screams it all. I commend your ability in acting, but I assure you it's not needed, aru. I do find myself a bit curious to something, America."

Alfred settled in his seat. "What's up?"

China seemed a bit hesitant to something before shutting his eyes, looking as if the world were resting on his shoulders. Alfred craned his neck to get a better look at China's face in the darkness but it was all wasted. The lights from the cars were the only source of brightness and that wasn't nearly enough to capture what the eastern nation was feeling.

"You aren't foolish when it comes to the larger matters at hand, are you?" China asked. Alfred shifted and pulled at the loose threads on his pants.

"Uh, I don't think so," he answered, not sounding too confident in himself but hoping that that was what China wanted to hear.

"I am being serious, aru."

Alfred bit into his bottom lip and looked around as if hoping to find the words China needed to hear written about the car. "Me too."

"You don't sound too confident," China chuckled and looked at Alfred for the first time since stepping in the car. Alfred felt a bit uncomfortable under such an analyzing gaze. What was with people looking at him like that recently?

"Huh? Uhm, well I am. You see, I keep up on current global topics of the…of the important nature. Yeah, that's it. Real good stuff in that meeting there. I was really paying attention to the part about–" China cut him off mid-ramble with a hand. He shook his head and smiled slightly.

"I wasn't referring to the conference, aru. Never mind. If I'm correct you will understand soon enough."

Alfred blinked and felt completely lost. What was China talking about? The car stopped suddenly and Alfred looked towards the driver before his surroundings. They were already at the hotel much to Alfred's surprise. He thought they had a lot longer to go. Turning back to China, Alfred found himself sitting alone. He saw the small Asian walking towards the hotel and scurried from the car, throwing various bills at the driver not really caring how much extra he'd given him.

"Hey, hold up. What were you talking about?" Alfred asked when he caught up to China. The shorter nation smiled at him.

"I suggest unhooking your phone, aru. Wǎn ān, America." China dipped his head in a small bow and turned away, not longer interested in talking to the blonde anymore. Alfred stood in the lobby a bit confused. He pulled out his cell phone and inspected it.

"My phone? How do you unhook a cell phone?" he wondered aloud.

Alfred completely forgot about his worldly duties the moment he reached his hotel room, head hitting the pillow and consciousness fading. As far as he was concerned he wouldn't have to think again until next month. The flight home wasn't nearly as bad as the flight to Germany. He figured it was due to the pressure of the discussions that awaited. But now that his duties were fulfilled that month he was free to enjoy the slippers and the free food and everything great that came with first class.

He had major jet lag when getting home, throwing his suitcase in a messy heap by his doorway. With a yawn and a pained groan at his tense muscles, Alfred walked down his hallway towards his kitchen. He tapped the _Home Sweet Home_ sign hanging above the arch and opened his fridge, a can of sweet, icy cola awaiting him. He sighed and wiped his mouth, turning back down his hallway intent on going for his television. Something stopped him curiously in his tracks making Alfred turn to see his coffee table in the hallway directly under his staircase.

A red light beeped (calling for his attention) making Alfred turn around and press the answering machine button. He took a sip and listened, expecting just messages he got from his boss that he usually received when he went out of town. The woman's familiar voice greeted his ears as he took another large sip from his Coke.

"_You have – 26 new messages–"_

Alfred spit the brown substance all over his white walls and a picture of him and Israel putting bunny ears on an annoyed Canada. _26 messages_? How the _heck_ did he have 26 messages? A tremor of worry rippled in his stomach, thinking of the possibility that it was a national emergency. He looked down at the machine eagerly and waited for the woman to continue.

"_First new message: From phone number_," the woman listed a number that Alfred heard often – also he had it secretly memorized. It was England.

"_Alfred. Blast it you need a new answering machine. It's much too long and it is a bother for me to sit through. Please change it before I call you again." _There was a brief pause as England sighed. "_I'm just calling to make sure you didn't forget your suitcase again. You probably will because you're too stupid to do anything correct the first time. I'm bringing a spare just in case you don't remember._" Alfred stared at the machine, something warm tickling his stomach like a million caterpillar legs. He swallowed whatever drink he had in his mouth when the awkward pause drifted on too long. "_Anyways, have a safe trip._"

The machine clicked indicating that England had hung up leaving Alfred standing uneasily in his hallway, fingers flexing around the can in his hands. The time and date showed that England had called an hour after he'd left for the conference. Alfred set his can down and twiddled his fingers together before pushing the button for the next message.

It was the same day he'd gotten to Germany, from a number he was unfamiliar with. When the voice entered his ears he stiffened, knowing exactly who it was on the other end.

"_Good morning, America. It is morning where you are, is it not? You have probably already left for the airport so I know you will not get this until you return home in a few days. I just was sitting around and found myself wondering what type of weather is your favorite? It will be snowy here in beautiful Germany so it just got me thinking. I assume it will be summer because of your strange obsession with tanning. Surprisingly that is my favorite as well, contrary to popular belief. Please be sure to dress warmly. I look forward to seeing you once more."_

Alfred gaped at the machine and clicked delete immediately to get rid of Russia's voice. Why was Russia calling him when he was already supposed to be in Germany? He clicked for the next message to play and was horrified to hear the same number.

"_Hello, America. It is nighttime here in Germany and I had another thought occur to me. You seem to like coffee a bit so I am going to buy a cup. I used to like this drink a long time ago but it does not suit my taste anymore. I do not wish to drink it but I see you coming inside this restaurant. Perhaps I will give it to you._"

Deleted.

"_Good evening, America. I found out that you do not like stars. I wonder why? You looked very angry when I brought them up_ –"

Deleted.

"_Good morning, America. I was thinking about the meeting today. You didn't look very_ –"

Deleted.

"_Good afternoon, America _–"

Deleted.

"_Good_ –"

Deleted.

Alfred clicked incessantly at his machine, eyes wide with disbelief. All of them – all of them were from Russia. Three days…All three days…

His mind was spinning.

With great annoyance, Alfred unplugged his answering machine.

So that's what China was meaning.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: So this chapter…Like all the others I guess, it was really difficult to write. Just the size of it and what dialogue to fill it with took a toll on my brain cells. Character development and plot – sweet, glorious plot! – has started to form. I'm so excited. Now it's not completely random, I have somewhat of an idea to work with. With that, please enjoy Russia's prying interest and America's defensive responses.

Oh, and sorry for the French comment in here. It's all in good fun, people. But if it's insensitive, I'm sorry. I didn't think it was.

It's about time I got the ball rolling. It's as slow as an iceberg, but it's rolling nonetheless.

* * *

With his telephone unplugged and e-mail accounts constantly changing (it was his third time within two weeks), Alfred felt himself going stir crazy. It was like being isolated all over again, but this time instead of wanting to willingly shut himself away from the world, Alfred was being forced. And it was all because of that _Russian_. He frowned and twirled around in his desk chair silently brooding over the fact that Russia was probably having a good laugh at what he'd accomplished.

He could see the headlines now: _Embodiment of the United States Goes Insane. Body Found on Highway Strangled by Own Straightjacket. How Dumb Can One Be?_

He stopped his spinning by digging his shoes into the hardwood floor. "It's not my fault. Those things are really hard to get out of. What do they _expect _from me – I'm not _Houdini_!" Alfred grumbled and wiped a hand over his face to calm himself down. Yeah. Calm down, calm down, deep breaths, that's it, go on, shh shhh…

Alfred relaxed a bit and wiggled his toes restlessly in his sneakers. Alright, there was no real good reason to be acting like a crazy animal. It wasn't like he was visiting Japan and stayed in one of those pod hotels where he practically had a nervous breakdown. This was his huge house in his huge country in the huge world floating like a sailboat in the huge galaxy of stars and blackness. Yes, there was nothing to worry about.

A sudden buzzing in his pocket made Alfred scream in surprise – his heart shooting up into his throat – and fall rather ungracefully out of his chair. He groaned and rubbed at his tailbone, sitting up with a wince and reaching a hand into his pocket. He pulled out his personal cell phone and flipped it open to see a picture of Italy, his face looking rather goofy, eyes closed in mid-blink. Alfred never had given him a warning for the flash that emitted from his cell phone. It didn't really matter – he wasn't going to change the picture no matter how embarrassed Italy was about it.

With hesitance, "Hello?"

That familiar jittery voice that usually spouted about pasta and girls and every kind of stupidity known in the northeastern hemisphere reached his ears. "P-pronto? Yes, hello? Is this America?"

At this Alfred loosened up and felt a bit foolish for his overreaction. He crawled back into his chair and leaned back against it, feet swinging to graze the floor lightly and send him at an easy pace in a circle. "What do you need, Italy?" he asked listlessly. He wasn't in a huge mood to be roped into something the bumbling Italian needed at the moment.

"Ve…I'm sorry. Am I calling at a bad time? You sound busy – I'm sure you're busy. How insensitive of me. I just felt my fingers on my phone and before I knew it you were talking and then I had to start talking and it's really random of me since I'm here at Germany's and all and –"

"_What do you need, Italy_?" Alfred said, albeit a little strained. He wasn't angry per say, but he could hear in the back of Italy's throat a purpose and that probably meant that he was going to have to get up. Which he _totally _didn't want to do.

Italy choked back something in a thick Italian accent that Alfred couldn't disassemble to pull words out of. "Okay, okay. Well…I was just sitting in Germany's living room and I remembered those folders you gave me at the last conference."

Alfred pivoted his feet and started spinning in the other direction. "Yeah. What about them?"

There was a distinct pause on Italy's part. "I seem to have…V-ve…Lost – I lost them."

Alfred stopped moving, his chest pulling at him in annoyance. _Nooo. Why, Italy, WHY? Do you want me to burn calories and get off my butt to make new copies? I'm not fat – honest! Stop calling me fat, you're not my fitness instructor! _"I see," he said numbly and already started to stand up.

Italy sounded apologetic. "I'm sorry. I know that was stupid of me but I – I promise not to lose the new copies that I hope you'll send me since they're due next week."

"Oh yeah? That's good to hear. I wish I heard this promise a couple weeks ago," Alfred laughed into the phone. Italy paused for a moment, trying to assess if that was a good laugh or a bad laugh, but no matter what he assessed, he let loose a tiny, awkward little laughlet.

"I will pay for the expenses of the shipping," Italy assured as Alfred started locking his front door. He gave a shiver when his boots brushed against some snow on his concrete steps and pulled his jacket closer. Darn the winter. Darn it to _heck_.

"How nice of you," Alfred said absentmindedly before turning around and slipping, falling on his already bruised tailbone. He muffled a pained yelp into his glove before worming his way on the ground, wanting nothing more than to have that blasted bone ripped from his body.

"A-America? You sound angry…"

Alfred pounded his fist against the snow in an effort to relieve some of the pain in his ass._ MOTHER FUCKER._

"…Are you angry?"

"N-no. _No._ I'm fine, Italy. Just a little tired. I'll get those bad boys shipped out today, okay? So don't you worry your teeny, tiny brain over anything, alright?" Alfred said with a smile between gritted teeth. He sat up and gently rubbed his bruised coccyx before standing up, clumps of snow falling off him in droves.

"Ve…Well–"

_Click._

Alfred hung up and slowly started his walk to get a copy of those folders again. There was a building just seven blocks away – a big, ugly, brown building that looked like a square of rotting tofu – that was a government issued building. Alfred had always thought they'd had it built so close to his house for his convenience. His bosses could be so nice when they wanted to.

When he stepped outside he patted the small grey statue of a boy and his father holding hands. It had become a ritual for some reason ever since England had gotten it for him when he moved in all those years ago. It was supposed to make his yard look better but the thing just stood out more than usual. Either way, he decided to keep it and kept it right up by his door and out of harms way.

On his way there, Italy had called again. He told Alfred to actually make more pages since the font from the first one was too squished and small for him to read. Alfred cheerily agreed before hanging up again. He mentally ran that over in his head to remember. When he'd entered the building and started flipping through the filing cabinet, Italy called again, this time asking for them to be stapled since he mixed all the pages out of order on the last one.

Okay…Bigger font and stapled pages, bigger font and stapled pages. Alfred was at the copier and typing in the folder's labeled number to edit the document when Italy called _again._ This time he said to make a spare copy just in case he lost it again. That was Germany's idea, much to Alfred's chagrin. Bigger font, stapled pages, extra copy. Alfred was starting to get annoyed. This wasn't supposed to take as long as he'd been there. He was halfway through the second copy when his phone buzzed again. Alfred clenched his fingers and roughly dug around in his pocket for the device.

Flipping it open with one hand he all but screamed, "_What! _What, Italy, what? What could you _possibly _want on it now? Do you want it on paper with your flag's colors? Or maybe you want the font to resemble old Italian scrolls. Whatever it is _just tell me now_ because I'm not going to pick up this phone again."

Alfred was huffing and puffing, face pink from the cold and possibly a smidge of annoyance from being closed off from everyone for weeks and then – _and then!_ – the first nation he talks to sends him on a goose hunt for the perfect document. The only thing that could bother him more was that the Italian nation was silent from the other end. Alfred counted to five and suddenly felt a little guilty for yelling at the goofball.

He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly as the copier hummed in front of him. "L-look, I'm sorry, Italy. I didn't mean to, you know, yell at you and stuff. I'll finish up the way you want it. What did you need?" There was more silence. Alfred shifted his feet. "I'll do it, but I don't have all day to stand around making copies. What do you need, Italy?" Still nothing. He frowned. "Look, I just said I didn't mean to yell at you. I've been stressed about a lot of things lately and you're the first person I've talked to in a while, and then you start making that panicky voice and telling me to–"

"Just because you are stressed, America, does not give you the right to take it out on others. Especially idiots like Italy, da?"

Alfred froze to the floor, and this time ice had nothing to do with it. His palm holding the phone filled with sweat instantly as he tore it from his face. He looked down at his phone and didn't see Italy's number or picture. Where was that picture? That half-blinking, dumbfounded picture? Time seemed to pass in clumps; very thick and confusing clumps that swirled around Alfred until he finally pulled the phone back up to his face, eyes narrowing and voice solid.

"Where the hell did you get this number?" Alfred demanded. His response was a joyous giggle that obviously sounded amused.

"Oh, America. You are very much as paranoid as you were during your 'Red Scare'. You must learn to, how you say, 'lighten up'." Russia smiled into his phone at yet another American influenced saying coming from his lips. This was exciting.

"I never gave you this number. I never even let you in the _vicinity _of this phone. How can you possibly have this number and call me paranoid when it's totally _okay _to be that?" Alfred asked, a slight hysterical twinge coating lightly over his voice, almost unnoticeable. He dug his fingers sharply into his hair and stared at the clicking and whirring of the copier in front of him.

"Yes. Now that you mention it, I am quite upset that someone of your caliber would have Italy in your cellular device yet none of my comrades, save for Lithuania of course," Russia commented airily making Alfred want to bash his head into the photocopier. So a crappy day could get crappier? Well if this wasn't the shit cherry on top of his diarrhea cake. "Is it because you can relate to Italy for you are both on the lower end of the IQ scale?"

Alfred didn't even bother commenting on how serious Russia was when discussing his intelligence, but rather focused his attention on another disturbing detail. "How do you know who's in my phone?" he muttered weakly. He could even hear the smile in Russia's voice as he answered.

"Secrets, secrets."

Oh. Well if it was a _secret_.

"Well if it's alright with you I think I'm just going to hang up now," Alfred mumbled, much too tired to deal with this on his bored, tired, and possibly suicidal day. Before he could pull away, Russia beat him to the punch.

"Wait a moment if you would, dear America. I have something I wish to discuss with you before–"

Alfred pulled his lips in a thin, tight line; a phony makeshift smile tugging at his face. Wonderful. What could Russia _possibly _have to discuss with him right now…on _his personal cell phone_…on his _day off_?

"Make it quick."

Russia paused for a moment, only managing to get half a sound out of his throat before –

_Click._

Alfred shoved his phone in his pocket, fingers tense when pulling the warm papers from the copier in front of him. He proceeded to staple them and slide them into neat manila folders before putting the original files back in the filing cabinet. When he started to leave the building, traveling through the musty hallways, his phone started vibrating once again. It was Russia, he didn't even have to check. There was no doubt in his mind that it was Russia (or Italy). It didn't really matter one way or the other; he didn't want to talk with either of them at the moment.

The buzzing stopped after a minute, a small bell emitting from his phone. Curious now, Alfred absentmindedly reached in his pocket to see that he had a voicemail. With a grunt he pulled it up to his ear, ignoring the chill of the air when he walked outside. That annoying, irritable voice tickled his eardrums once more.

"_My, that was very rude of you. Do you often hang up when someone is trying to talk about important matters to you? I suppose that should not surprise me considering the awful American manners you possess, but I find myself a tad bothered. Please try to be more considerate when it comes to your colleagues and fellow telephone users."_

Alfred rolled his eyes and started double checking the folders in front of him. He heard the shift in Russia's tone – going from a more irritated to a pleasant one.

"_Now that you understand the difference between rudeness and politeness, I will tell you to look up within the next three seconds."_

Alfred blinked, his hands fumbling with the files in front of him. "Wha – oomph!" He stumbled when his face collided with something large and broad – the bland colors of grey dancing across his vision for a moment. Sputtering and looking up, Alfred gaped to see Russia standing in front of him, smiling like someone who wasn't aware that this totally wasn't normal. He shot back, confused, glaring and shaking at the nation that was not supposed to be standing on one of his streets like he was.

What the hell? Russia wasn't even supposed to be here. Was he? N-no he wasn't. Alfred would know if Russia was supposed to be here…right?

"You do not follow orders very well," Russia commented with his carefree smile, hands strung behind his back. His American companion could care less with whatever Russia was spurting and was focusing more on stopping his heart from exploding in his chest. That much friction from it pumping so fast couldn't be good for him.

" Wh- wha – why are you doing – I mean, _what _are you doing here with – Wait – You're, you –" Wow. His mouth couldn't even function properly. With an annoyed groan and a rapid shake of the head, Alfred straightened up and stopped his jumbled nerves long enough to form a sentence. Well…Something coherent at least. "You. Here. _Why_?"

Russia was standing off to the side of some potted flowers, eyes regarding them with interest. His gloved fingers skimmed them giving him an almost tender look in his eyes. With that it was gone, his attention back on the tense American before him. He smiled and brushed a stray strand of hair away from his face. "That you should already be aware of."

Alfred stared.

Russia smiled.

Alfred squinted as if just narrowing his eyes could help him gauge whatever the hell kind of nonsensical garbage Russia was spouting. Russia sighed through his nose, making sure to keep his smile in place, and rustled around in his coat before pulling a few pieces of paper out. He held them forward and waited until Alfred cautiously snatched them away and looked at them incredulously. He cocked his head to the side in confusion before looking back towards Russia. Why was Russia still carrying some papers he had given him at the Starbucks nearly a month ago?

Russia decided to elaborate for him before he could voice his puzzlement. "Four days ago my political leaders were going to put into action the plans conducted by our two friendly nations composed, yet upon further inspection, two signature slots were unsigned. You see the problem? We asked ourselves, '_How can this be? We cannot pass a legal document that has not been completely agreed upon by the second party. Do they think we are imbeciles such as themselves or do they just like giving us more to do at our inconvenience?' _And even as we looked deeper into the problem, the signature slots are the ones supposed to be filled in by your President."

Alfred gripped the copied paper in his hands, uncaring if it got crinkled. He felt a nervous sweat gather at the back of his neck. Russia's smile seemed to get a little more sadistic then.

"A realization hit me when I began to recall the meeting we attended right after our enjoyable little chat at the coffee shop. You were supposed to make sure all given empty slots were to be signed by the instructed officials, yet you overlooked two on the seventh page. They were nestled at the bottom where even your horrible eyesight could not even hope to reach. It is truly an embarrassing mistake that could have been avoided."

Alfred's face heated up in humiliation. He knew he should have triple-checked even _after _handing it over to Russia. And now he had to deal with that grinning face like a cat torturing a mouse hovering right above him. _Super. _Alfred coughed awkwardly before shoving the paper back at Russia who merely tucked it back in his coat for safekeeping.

"Whoops," he muttered, barely audible. Russia chuckled.

"Whoops indeed."

Shifting his feet in the icy snow, Alfred huffed and tucked Italy's manila folders under his arm. He grumbled, getting his old demeanor back. "W-well, something like this is an easy fix. All you needed to do was fax it back over and the problem would've been solved days ago. There's no need for you to physically be here."

Russia tutted, meaning to correct Alfred as he fell in line with the slow strides of the coated blonde. "I am also aware of that. Please do not insinuate that I am as dense as you. I know when to gauge my surroundings. I was merely bored to tears when I heard about this problem. I was even told not to get involved but I _insisted _that we take a trip back to fix this. Foreign relations is a hefty topic, do you not agree?"

Alfred felt something coil around his ribcage and siphon off the air that rested there. There was just something very intimidating about the way Russia "insisted" something. He decided not to look over at him when the air seemed to drop temperature.

"…I see. Well that's just awful," Alfred deadpanned. He was too busy thinking of a way to get to his house without Russia following and finding out his personal address. He didn't need something like that weighing around him. Damn, he'd never expected this. Alfred chewed on his bottom lip and furrowed his brow. He could walk around for a while and try to politely leave claiming to have other things to do, but Russia would surely impose himself. He always did.

He mentally whined. It was freezing; walking around for a while didn't sound like a fun plan at all.

"–Do you think so?"

Alfred's feet stuttered for a moment before he quickly caught himself. Oh, Russia was still talking. With a frown he looked away at the different snow topped buildings ahead of him. "Uh – yeah. Sure."

Russia stared down at him with something that resembled mild shock. Alfred ran his tongue over his teeth a little nervously at the expression he received. Did he say something weird? The look was gone a split second after it had appeared, replaced by a placid smile.

"Is that so? I would not have guessed that you would so willingly denounce your allegiance to your Declaration of Independence and country's flag."

Alfred stopped altogether and looked outright appalled. "Are you _crazy_? I would sooner shoot off all my toes before I did that!"

He was cut off with an amused string of giggles. Russia looked at him through crescent moon eyes, cheeks pushing up and squinting them. "I am joking, joking." He watched as Alfred glared and looked away, pout set on his lips. "My apologies. I could not help myself. You always have such outlandish faces."

Alfred grunted unappreciatively and fiddled with the folders under his arm. Russia let out a small hum and looked up towards the glossy sky above. "To be serious, the real question I asked was if you enjoy having siblings?"

If Alfred was bothered by this question he didn't show it. He shrugged in response, trying to be as noncommittal to the conversation as possible. "You have quite a few, do you not? I cannot recall all of them, but I am at least aware of their presence. You have a closer bond with the other nation that shares your face, I believe."

Alfred wasn't going to make any comment, but the mention of his brother stirred something soft in him past all of the gunk that festered around his chest when Russia was around. "Yeah…Mattie's cool."

Russia flexed his fingers at his sides before running them along the scarf that warmed his neck. Something glinted in his eyes a moment when looking down at the old, worn out cloth. "He is…not much like you, is he?" Russia framed his words like a question, yet both knew the answer even if Alfred didn't reply.

Going along with the conversation in hopes of slipping in a spot to get away, Alfred begrudgingly responded. "No. He's totally opposite."

"You are correct. He seems much more well-mannered than you." Alfred shot him a displeased glower that Russia took in good stride. "He is not more interesting, though."

Alfred felt that uncomfortable squirming back in his belly like thousands of maggots on a dead carcass. He rolled his neck and stuck a hand in his pocket. "Huh."

Somehow sensing Alfred's unease, Russia smiled lightly and twined his fingers together. "Tell me, has your hair always been that unruly?" Alfred kicked at the snowy edges of the grass beside him on the concrete. He kept his eyes down and frowned, not too grateful for the subject change. It wasn't that he didn't want it to change, but Russia even managed to keep it on another stupid subject. What was with him and all these questions anyways?

"Yeah."

Russia let out a slightly interested hum behind his lips and slowed his pace when he noticed Alfred lagging behind – whether it was because of his short or debatably stumpy legs or because he was purposely slowing down was arguable. He smiled to himself at the grouchy look Alfred seemed to always wear around him. He liked that about him, even if he would never voice it. Japan or England or Lithuania may get to see Alfred's happy faces or grins on mirth, but Russia was a very special person. He had that impression; why else would Alfred show him the angry, bitter, spiteful side of himself that he rarely showed to others?

He paused before giggling and receiving a strange look from Alfred. No, that was ridiculous. He didn't wish to take the place of someone very special to Alfred, but he did like see him squirm and writhe around uncomfortably with that delightful scowl in place.

"Even when it rains?" Russia asked, feigning surprise.

"Yes," Alfred bit out.

"How interesting. Do you mind me asking another question?"

"Yes."

"When exactly did you discover this piece?" Russia asked and stopped to point at Alfred's unmanageable cowlick. He flinched and ducked his head away so Russia wouldn't touch him, even if he _was _wearing gloves. "You call it Nantucket, do you not?"

Alfred swatted his hand away and stepped away, still on the defensive. He frowned, not liking Russia discussing how he kept his hair. Who was he to judge? At least Alfred didn't let his hair…uh…hang over his ears! Yeah, what a hippie. "I don't know. It's just been that way as long as I can remember. And don't touch it."

"Why not?" Russia asked and tilted his head to the side inquisitively.

"_Because._ Do you need any other reason than that?" Alfred snipped with a wince. Russia smiled and took a step back to quell the bristled nation.

"Fair enough." With that the conversation seemed to die for but a moment as the two walked in silence. Alfred cooled down a bit but found his mind reeling once more. His fingers were going numb and his nose was as frozen as ice. Russia let out an airy breath that sounded strangely like a laugh and Alfred raised an eyebrow at him. He mentally cursed him for looking so unaffected by the cold.

"What?"

Russia shook his head and waved his hand dismissively. Alfred stared for a moment before huffing and blowing clouds of white from his lips. But then Russia let out that same sound again making Alfred give him the same skeptical stare. Russia proceeded to wave him off again when Alfred growled. "What's so funny?"

Russia's eyes sparkled with unabashed mirth. "Your hair."

Alfred gaped. "What about my hair?"

Russia twined his fingers behind his back and began to walk smoothly through a patch of salt on the sidewalk. His lips quirked upwards in that smile that Alfred hated with all his being. In a sense it was much worse than the malicious one he wore during the Cold War. The smile he wore when talking to him lately held some sense of secrecy; as if Russia knew something Alfred didn't and didn't plan on sharing it with him. _Ever._

"It is unsightly and golden." The tall Russian looked down at Alfred to see the unsettled expression that clearly stated that he didn't understand. "You are America, see? Yet you have golden hair." Alfred blinked. "Golden much like the Spanish grass that flourishes on your hills. You are America yet you are still like Spain. I can see it on your tumbleweed hair, much like your western movies, da?"

Remember that time chunking thing Alfred talked about earlier? It was happening again. Forget the fact that Russia found it _hi– fucking –larious _that his hair was blonde instead of green like regular grass (which was humongously dim-witted by the way because green wasn't a normal hair color in the Land of Sanity) but he'd also mentioned that he was mildly aware of western movies. That plus the Parent Trap he'd mentioned earlier meant that he watched some American movies despite saying how pedantic and eccentric America was all the time. And by saying this out loud (which _couldn't_ be a coincidence) made Russia, like, his stalker right?

"Why are you so caught up on my hair?" Alfred managed to choke out and keep his legs moving at the same time. Ha! He could multitask too when he wanted.

"Vanity," Russia reminded in a sing-song tone making Alfred clench his fingers in annoyance. He was so tired of hearing him say that. "I am simply supplying a subject that has a possibility that you may contribute to."

"So you choose _hair_?" he asked skeptically.

Russia smiled at him. "Was that a bad choice?"

Alfred slowly shook his head, unsure whether he was answering Russia's question or just trying to symbolically shake off the whole situation. Either way Russia took that as an okay to continue talking. "I find it humorous to see history on such a goofy looking body." He rightly ignored the glare he received. "I do not notice history that much on others, but it seems to stand out more on you for some strange reason. A lot of it is from your earlier existence, like those spectacles or your hair."

Alfred kept silent and pretended to ignore Russia but was really quietly listening to the words streaming from his mouth. He had never had someone bring up history on his looks before. It was strangely…flattering. Mostly creepy, but a little flattering. Russia chiding him about vanity popped into his head that moment making Alfred grimace.

"You have hair like your northern counterpart and also share his face and have slender hands such as that promiscuous Frenchman." Alfred sneakily glanced towards his hands and inspected them, unaware of Russia's eyes watching him curiously. Was he really that much like other nations just didn't notice it? How many others had started to notice as well? Surely it wasn't just Russia…He'd die if it was just Russia.

"Yet for some reason, I do not see your biggest influence very much in you." Alfred felt his heart twinge for a second, quickly picking back to his regular palpitation tempo. He lightly furrowed his brow in silent concern and watched Russia curiously.

"What do you mean?"

Russia acted like this statement was obvious. "Your language is choppy and awkward, more of a bastard child of the true English language. You do not possess horrid eyebrows much like his Celtic brethren and that tiny spec of a laughable nation who dresses like a sea man. Your eyes are very much like the open sky that is endless, whereas his are like the grass of the land where he is forced to stay." Russia paused to see Alfred's face loosen up with each word, each observation. He inwardly grinned at the fact that Alfred probably even wasn't aware that he wasn't wearing his trademark scowl. Craning his neck to the side, Russia batted pale eyelashes curiously. "You did not notice this?"

Alfred looked away down towards his feet and focused all his might on them. "You say soccer, he says football. You are also very dark skinned and he is pale. You are tall, he is short. There are many other noticeable qualities that stand out that you do not mirror. I am just curious, why is that?"

Alfred blinked and looked back up at Russia with wide eyes. Why…is that? Why didn't he resemble anything from England? From Arthur? He shook his head and scratched the back of his neck with his free hand. "No. No – I – I do have some English background. It's just…not super visible. I drink tea and stuff sometimes," Alfred said confidently and kept on walking. Russia watched his back for a few seconds.

"Are you referring to all of the herbal teas from Asia?" It was very hard to keep the amusement from his voice when Alfred went rigid and stopped. Russia wiped his hand quickly over his face, as if the action alone would get rid of his smile, before continuing forward to see the blonde nation staring at a tree across the way with a very peculiar expression. "Does that really count?"

Alfred's eyebrows pulled together in great concentration. He wracked his mind for any possible thing that was relatable to England and quickly grinned, fingers snapping enthusiastically. "We both make fun of the French."

Russia smiled politely. "Everyone makes fun of the French."

Alfred faltered slightly before glaring back up at Russia. He was obviously not liking this conversation that much. "Who _cares_? Who really fuckin' cares if I don't have anything in common with Engl – Arthur? We get along now so that's all that matters. Besides, I don't have anything from you either but that doesn't mean you were never part of my history."

Russia's smile pulled tighter and Alfred fumed. He turned heel and quickly started storming away. Russia giggled to himself and was truly enjoying this little game of theirs before he caught up. "I will help you out since you seem to have such a problem with this predicament."

"I don't have a problem," Alfred denied bitterly.

Russia ignored that statement. He placed a finger to his chin and feigned thinking. "Hm. What could reconnect you with the British Empire? Maybe your awful taste buds or loud behavior…" He chuckled, eyes swirling a somewhat darker shade of violet – resembling a mud puddle of dark ink. Alfred shivered when Russia tapped lightly to the spot where his heart lay. "Or maybe a scar?"

There it was. There was that _thing _again. That same thing that happened in the coffee shop and at the fountain. That sickening feeling that made him want to do nothing more than to wretch out all the contents in his stomach and then some. It was a terrible feeling and combined with those twinkling eyes staring down at him, Alfred nearly lost it. He flinched away and growled, his heart beating nervously.

"I don't want nor need your help. Leave it the hell alone." His voice definitely wasn't shaking. _Definitely_. He stared at Russia for what seemed like forever before his nerves came back to him, jittery and jumbled. He wiped his sleeve under his nose and straightened the folders under his arm. Much calmer now, "I have to go. I still have stuff to do today."

Russia blinked and that inky, thick look was out of his eyes. He smiled and clasped his hands together. "Perhaps you are correct. I do have things I must attend to as well. Such as your embarrassing mistake with the documentation." He smiled wider seeing Alfred falter slightly at the mention of that again. "I enjoyed our brief moment of conversation. I wish to do it again sometime. Please plug your phone and computer back in. I do not wish to come to your country every time we discuss something. That would take a toll on me, truly it would."

Alfred frowned at the mention of his phone. He didn't want to plug it back in. He was too afraid of how many messages would be on it. But since Russia had already gotten his cell number…it seemed pointless to keep avoiding the outside world when every form of communication he had was tainted. "Whatever," he muttered and turned to leave.

Even as he started to walk away he couldn't get that itch from the back of his head. That itch like eyes were watching him the whole way back. "Be safe," Russia announced. And with that, the two parted.

* * *

"The inbox was full, Matt. The machine couldn't hold anymore messages. That's freaky stuff right there," Alfred whined into his cell phone whilst flipping through the channels on his television. He could hear the hesitance from his brother even over the phone.

"I think you did something," Canada said quietly. He fiddled with the spatula in his kitchen and waited for the stove to heat up.

"Did not."

Canada sighed. "You're so immature. Why can't you admit when you do something wrong?"

Alfred licked the spoon from his ice cream bowl and muted the TV. "Um, because I didn't do anything this time?"

"You're not always right, you know, Alfred. You probably just said something to him that–"

"Did _not_."

"Then why are you telling me this?" Canada complained and yelped when his finger touched the warm burner. He stuck it in his mouth. "Don't bother me with your problems if you're going to be too vain to take any blame."

Alfred sat up abruptly in his chair and frowned. "Don't say that," he said firmly. "I am _not _vain."

Canada blinked, perplexed as to why such a statement would make his brother snap at him. He figured it had something to do with whatever problems he was going through with at the moment. "You are but I guess not all the time…Just most of the time…At least when you're around me."

"Shut up, Mattie," Alfred ordered and fell against his sofa. The last thing he wanted was for Russia to get in his head and mess up his relationships with his brother and…other people. It had been a few days since running into Russia '_coincidentally'_, and ever since he hadn't been in such a good mood. At least he had made sure Russia was on a plane home a day ago, seeing the large nation off. It had been like a weight being lifted off his shoulders, Russia's presence no longer bothering him in his country.

Still, just the things he said were starting to get to him. They shouldn't, but they were. And here he was expecting some magic advice from his brother which wasn't going to happen and all he could do was quote Russia. Yeah, he wasn't really _aware _that he was quoting him, but it was still just as bad. If not, worse.

When Canada didn't seem to respond from his end, Alfred adjusted the phone better by his ear. "I didn't mean literally shut up," he sighed.

"Sorry. You just sounded so serious."

Alfred rolled his eyes at his brother's sarcasm. "Look, if you want to be useful to me then just tell me that I'm an awesome guy and that Russia isn't acting different than usual. I must be imagining it all."

Canada poured some batter in a pan and exhaled. "You're awesome, Alfred. And Russia is just swarming around you like a bug to a bug zapper because of it. There. Is that what you wanted?"

"Maybe a plaque for it too."

Canada smiled despite himself. "You would. Can I go now? I can't cook and listen to you complain at the same time. I think I need another ear for that."

Alfred frowned and nestled his head in the armrest of his couch. He sighed overdramatically. "Fine. Don't burn your house down."

"I'm not you."

Alfred snorted and ran a hand through his hair. "See ya, Matt."

"Goodnight, Al."

Alfred hung up his phone and threw it on the coffee table. He shut his eyes and rubbed them, the light of the television bothering them. It danced across his skin like a bunch of fireflies on steroids with the different colors. Alfred yawned and rolled over so he wouldn't have to see them anymore. Thinking about his brother's reassurance, he couldn't help but feel a little better. The words were like a soothing balm to an open wound that was starting to form.

If he didn't dwell on them, it wouldn't have given him the comfort it did. He lay there just like that for he didn't know how long. He just knew that it was disrupted when a loud crash tore through his living room. He quickly fell off his couch ungracefully and popped his head up in confusion.

"What the hell?"

That was a definite sound of something breaking, but the question was where. Getting to his feet, Alfred scrambled towards his window. He peeled back the curtains and looked out into his lit yard but didn't see anybody. Huh. It must've been an animal or something. Just to make sure he grabbed his fire poker and unlocked his front door. He pulled it open and stepped out onto his snowy porch, no movement in sight. It was just a calm, chilly winter night.

Alfred stood there a moment until his skin started to get Goosebumps before deciding to go back inside. Maybe something had broken in the backyard. Before he could even take one step in his house, Alfred's eyes snagged on something out of the ordinary. He slowly scuffled back around and kneeled down to where the good luck statue was. A tight coiling began to wind around his chest uncomfortably when his eyes ran over it. Down the center, where the hands used to be connected with the boy and the man was a rift; an ugly, gnashing crack down the center.

Alfred reached out and ran his hand over the jagged cut and didn't move.

That reassuring balm was gone. It was replaced with an uneasy dread that tickled at the back of his mind.

He needed to call Canada again, pancakes be damned.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Long chapter is long. It's been a little while and I finally managed to update. If you like this story so far then I guess you'll like the length of this chapter. If you don't like it then I'm not sure what to tell you. I realized when starting this that there wasn't a lot of Russia in it and that wouldn't do. So I put some more scenes with him in before updating and now the chapter's real long.

As for last chapter, I don't think I wrote it correctly. I didn't intend for people to think Russia broke America's statue, rather that it was a "sign" or whatnot for something that could happen in the future. Fail. Oh well, it doesn't matter either way. There could be speculation that Russia broke it; either way works. One way is a more innocent rather than possessive tone.

On a totally separate note, I do appreciate the reviews and support for this practically plotless story that has yet to deliver very hard on both genres. It really makes the difference on my enthusiasm for this story. I tried to make this chapter more eventful.

Also, a fellow reviewer made it known to me that, yes, Russia and America are doing fairly well together as countries, but I also like to think that relationships with Hetalia characters (being a personified form of a country much like a human being) also differ depending on their personalities. So even though Russia and America may be getting along right now give or take a few things, some of the acidic feelings being thrown around by the two (particularly Alfred) are from the way they personally take to each other. I don't know if that's clear, but I hope it made sense.

Enjoy.

* * *

The few weeks before the next summit meeting had Alfred constantly answering his phone. He actually found it easier to comply with the little things that made Russia insert himself into his life rather than struggling tooth and nail. In the end it would only make him frustrated and angry, Russia keeping that same smile on his face that assured Alfred that he had no control over the situation. After the first few calls, Alfred had begrudgingly told Russia to only call his house phone (never his cell phone) if he had something important to discuss.

Apparently being bored or 'thinking of him' were _legitimate_ and _important _reasons for Russia. Eventually Alfred gave up and kept his phones by his bed and his desk just in case Russia had another urge to share something totally inane with the American.

But as the weeks passed with the dozens of questions that Russia threw at him still ringing in his ears, Alfred was finally glad to just be getting off a plane and heading towards his hotel. He was glad that the conference would be taking place in Japan this time, for the Asian had set the location in a simply rainy spot rather than somewhere snowy. Alfred knew that was a favor for his sake. He knew so much that he pulled the smaller nation into a bear hug when stepping foot into the hotel lobby, swinging him around with a grin as small hands gripped at his sleeves in dizziness.

He was tired of the snow. He was tired of the cold. But most of all he was tired of the overall dreary feelings that accompanied the weather.

He wasn't sure if it was the weather that was making a slowly forming ball of dread in his chest, but it was better to blame it on that than something he had caused. Ever since Russia had visited all those weeks ago, Alfred couldn't shake the feeling he was experiencing. Russia had talked about England, which was no big deal. Even Alfred liked to get in a few jabs at his old caretaker every now and then. But the way Russia talked had been different. He had pointed something out that Alfred as a whole had failed to notice.

He was nothing like England.

And that thought started to eat away at him, itching the back of his mind when he sat around with nothing in particular to do. The idea really shouldn't have bothered him; England was a frumpy guy with big eyebrows, a drinking issue, and no sense of humor. Why on God's green earth would Alfred want to be anything remotely similar to that?

…And yet when Russia pointed it out, he didn't like it. Not one bit.

Then there was that whole statue thing. It had been so clearly cracked in such a place between the boy and his father (which he was going a great deal to convince himself that the boy didn't look like him as a child and the man didn't look like England) that only solidified this emotion taking hold of him slowly but surely. It was overwhelming and shouldn't mean anything, yet it did.

With an exhausted sigh, Alfred ran a hand roughly through his hair and looked out the window onto the vast concrete jungle that was Tokyo. The rain dabbed lightly at the windowpane, little crystals of water that swirled together creating an odd shape sort of resembling a face. Alfred squinted his eyes to get a better look at the face before lightly blowing a wisp of air turning the glass frosty. With careful movements he began to trace the outline of a man. Scraggly hair, tightly bound lips, large eyebrows–

A noise behind him made him jump and quickly use the cloth of his sleeve from his elbow to his wrist to wipe away the picture. Alfred turned around jittery to see Japan standing with a raised eyebrow. He smiled with a small twitch of his lips and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Hey Kiku. What's up?" Yes, he would try the casual approach.

"I am doing fine, America-san."

"Alfred," Alfred corrected, not even looking annoyed in the slightest at Japan's mix-up. The Asian furrowed his brow apologetically and twiddled his fingers, tying them in a tight not.

"…I'm sorry. I did it again," he muttered. Alfred waved his hand in dismissal.

"Don't sweat it. It's only been, like, sixty years or somethin'. No big deal." Japan frowned unappreciatively which made Alfred laugh, the sound rippling in a smooth wave from his throat. "I'm _kidding_, I'm kidding."

Japan huffed before glancing away a moment. "So what'd you need, pal?"

"I merely wanted to see how your flight went," Japan responded politely, inky eyes zoning in on the messy smudges against the lobby window. Alfred followed his vision before quickly leaning against the wall, blocking Japan's view. The smaller nation blinked before looking up at the smiling blonde's face.

"Great. A little bit of turbulence, but nothing I'm not used to. Thanks for picking a spot without snow by the way. I really appreciate it."

Japan smiled showing a small amount of his teeth. "That wasn't intentional, Alfred-san. You're just very lucky that it hasn't been excessively frigid here. The beginnings of winter have been surprisingly mild in my country."

"That's the beauty of it I suppose. I think God did that intentionally because he knew I'd be making a trip out here. He cut me some slack," Alfred laughed again. Japan raised an eyebrow and crinkled his nose.

"…I don't think that's how it works–"

"–Sure it is, sure it is!" Alfred slapped his friend on the back roughly nearly making Japan's eyes bug out. He wrapped his arm around the shorter man's shoulders and steered him towards the café nestled on the other side of the lobby. "In the meantime I'll just relax and enjoy this calm weather before I'm forced back home."

"No one's _forcing _you to do anything," Japan mumbled lightly as they walked into the dim little shop. "You are welcome to stay here as long as you wish."

Alfred grinned half-heartedly before withdrew his arm and took a seat in a cloth bound red chair. Japan did the same across from him, eyes darting quickly to every face in the room. "I wish. But then no work would get done."

"And work to you means…?" Japan asked seriously. Alfred gave him a level stare before the Asian chuckled. "I'm sorry. I couldn't help myself. You must admit, you set yourself up for it." Japan folded his hands politely in front of him before motioning towards the counter. "Aren't you going to get something to drink? I'm surprised that you haven't done so yet like you usually do. Are you feeling alright?"

Alfred leaned back in his seat with great reluctance. The way Japan was looking so curiously at him twisted his stomach. He never liked it when people put more effort to check if he was okay or not. It was just…uncomfortable. A hero was supposed to worry about the masses, not the other way around. "I said I'm fine already. Just a little jumbled from the flight. I'll get something to drink later, maybe over dinner."

Japan remained silent a moment, lips squirming against each other as if gauging Alfred's words. "Is that an implication for me?" he finally asked uncertainly making Alfred laugh at his friend's awkwardness. Even after all this time of being out of isolation, Japan still had his moments where he just couldn't understand people. At least, not on the level Alfred could. He was a natural people person, or at least he thought he was.

"You bet your butt it is. I rarely come here for a visit. The least you could do is have dinner with me," Alfred said and flashed an award winning smile. Japan flinched, cheeks alight in embarrassment as he nodded.

"That – that may be. We are…friends," he admitted and Alfred couldn't help but feel something warm in his chest at how secretly content Japan looked to confess that. "I will accompany you to dinner as a gracious host. However, I would like to point out that I am under no obligation to do so. You're here for business, not to meander around and sightsee."

Alfred puffed his cheeks out childishly and crossed his arms behind his head. "Party-pooper. Why do you have to point that out? I just wanna relax from all the crap I've been dealing with."

Japan twisted his face in slight interest. "Conferences are far from relaxing, Alfred-san."

"Oh, boy do I know."

Japan didn't want to meddle but he was a bit inquisitive towards Alfred's statement. "You have been dealing with some stressful things from your country this month?"

Alfred blinked and rolled his shoulders quickly in a noncommittal shrug. "You could say that I guess."

Japan's head lolled forward in a small bow, almost resembling a nod. "That's surprising."

"Why is that surprising? I've got important things to do, you know," Alfred said seriously and leaned forward on his elbows. Japan smirked at him.

"Reading comic books and playing my demo games would not be considered work to most people."

"Wha – You think that's what I do?" Alfred asked in disbelief. Japan hesitantly nodded and looked away.

"Partly. I recall you doing that the last time I had visited you."

Alfred huffed and ran his hand down his face in exasperation. "That was a onetime thing. It was a long month last time…This month has been more about…" he drifted off, unsure if he should say. Japan looked at him with inquiring eyes making Alfred's hesitation falter. Well, he'd already told Canada. Telling one of his other close friends wouldn't kill him; just as long as word didn't get out to Russia or worse, his totally gaga over the moon sister. He shivered at even the mere _thought_ of her glare.

"Alright, you have to promise not to say anything because it's really not a big deal, but Russia has sorta been chatting with me," Alfred muttered quietly into his hand, eyes glancing around the hotel café as if expecting any of the soviet siblings to pop out of the cracks in the floors.

"Russia-san?" Japan repeated, as if just the mere notion tickled his ears. Perhaps he'd misheard. Alfred nodded. "I wasn't aware that you two were such…good friends."

"We're not friends," Alfred corrected much too quickly. He frowned and shook his head. "We're a lot of things, but I don't think a friend is one of them."

"Then why have you been chatting?" Japan asked, craning his neck in confusion.

"I don't know. But it keeps me up at night and wakes me up early in the mornings and I've just been…Never mind. Forget it," Alfred smiled and tried to brush the subject away. There was no real point in discussing this right now, especially not when he himself couldn't fully wrap his mind around the situation.

It wasn't so much of a bother that Russia was talking to him, more along the lines of what he was talking to him _about_.

Japan moved to get more comfortable in his seat when he folded his hands together against the table. "You're mentioning it now doesn't seem as strange. I remember last month a brief conversation you two had. I didn't think anything of it. It wasn't out of the ordinary since you both talk together occasionally."

"Yeah, well. Not right now. He's been getting on my nerves," the American grumbled.

"Your countries are not cooperating?"

"It's not our countries that have the problem right now. It's _him_." Alfred glanced at his friend and felt a little unnerved by his expression. Shaking his head as if the action alone would clear his thoughts, he put back on his Hollywood smile and forced his regular enthusiasm to seep his voice. "I don't want to talk about Russia right now, Kiku. Let's just chill for a little while, is that okay?"

The Asian let his gaze linger a moment before shutting his eyes and placing a small smile against his lips as well. "As you wish, America-san."

"Alfred."

Japan buried his face in his hands, frustrated as Alfred laughed.

* * *

The morning of the first day of the summit took a toll on Alfred. He had coincidentally tossed and turned in his bed without the slightest chance of falling asleep soon taking place. Sleeping seemed to be a chore to him as of late and it was starting to make itself present in both his energy and the amount of caffeine consumption he'd been trying to intake. So it was safe to say that when his wake up call came, Alfred all but fell out of bed listlessly.

Not only had sleep deprivation been hitting the American on a small level currently, but that annoyance or something akin to anxiety that filled his chest had arisen again. There were two reasons why that popped into his mind while he showered and got dressed. The first was the more obvious reason; Russia.

He had hoped to avoid him as long as possible, but that seemed a bit hard to do when enclosed in a room with him for hours on end. It wasn't an angry feeling that he had the last time at the conference, but it was still a small annoyance. He didn't want to deal with Russia in case he brought up the second reason why he dreaded going to the meeting.

Alfred swallowed nervously and peered into his mirror, running a hand gently through his hair. He let out a breath that he wasn't even aware he was holding and placed sweaty palms against the bathroom counter. What was he doing? This was ridiculous. He shouldn't be primping and stalling like some little kid in the bathroom. He needed to puff out his chest and walk confidently into that room with his chin held high.

Who cared if England would most likely try to talk to him or come near him? That wasn't abnormal. England still treated him like a child as annoying as that was. He could deal with that…couldn't he?

Alfred frowned. Yes. Yes he could. If he didn't think about it then this wouldn't be bothering him at all. Besides, he didn't need to be similar to someone to be close to them, right?

Alfred let a hesitant smile pull at his lips. Now slightly convinced due to his great mental ability to persuade himself, Alfred exited his room in search for the conference hall. It was a bit frustrating when he actually managed to get lost and couldn't speak Japanese. Everyone he asked couldn't understand him either. Damn language barrier.

With five minutes to spare, Alfred had _finally_ found the proper building much to his excitement. His thrill was short-lived when remembering exactly why he was feeling so anxious a few minutes ago. Because of his near tardiness, the room was full of different faces dancing with the different cultures all around the world. Alfred straightened and began to look for an empty seat where he could sulk in seclusion.

"Good morning, America," Italy greeted when looking up mid-conversation with Spain. He smiled cheerfully with rosy cheeks, eyes sprinkled with recognition.

"Hey," Alfred greeted back with a small smile of his own. He just wanted to brush by everyone and take a seat. Italy moved forward and clasped his hands of Alfred's in appreciation.

"I never got the chance to thank you for sending me those files," Italy said, fingers clasping tighter over the American's.

Alfred's eyes started glancing behind Italy longingly at the table. He knew if he could just sit down then he would be A-okay. "Yeah? That's great. It was no big deal."

"But it was! And it was such short notice too. I felt awful when I called you. You sounded preoccupied and tired so I couldn't help but feel guilty like I was bothering you," the Italian explained. Alfred peered at him tentatively and strained his ears to understand the thick Italian accent. The brunette was talking so fast he couldn't quite follow. He just nodded quickly before trying to pull his hands away.

"Like I said, no big deal."

He vaguely registered Italy going on about something or other when Alfred let his eyes drift up and stop when landing on a large figure by the windows. He froze, lips opening ever so slightly as his stomach squirmed. Russia was having a discussion with his sister, Ukraine. He smiled and nodded pleasantly at all the right moments. It was almost surreal. Alfred didn't remember Russia ever looking normal during a conversation. There was always a sense of false politeness or secret malice behind his posture and words, but with his sister that didn't seem to be the case.

He looked oddly like a normal human being.

Perhaps Alfred had been staring too long, he wasn't sure. He'd had a problem keeping tracking time as of late. But when Russia glanced up, seeming to notice someone watching him, his eyes snagged lightly onto Alfred's. He just stood there stupidly, outright staring at Russia as Italy stood clasping his hands, mouth going a mile a minute.

But just as Russia had looked up with curious violet eyes, did he tear them away apathetically to focus back onto his sister. Alfred managed to kick his brain into gear then, blinking in a confused manner.

What? No cheerful wave or annoying barrage of questions?

Alfred furrowed his brow, feeling his perplexity running through his veins like an overflowing stream of icy water. Did Russia just…_snub_ him?

"America?"

Alfred was jerked from his own little world at the sound of Italy's voice. He pulled his hands away quickly with a fake smile that he pulled whenever he wasn't listening. He'd perfected it when he was younger, so used to zoning out during England's scoldings. "Sorry. I'm still a little tired. Haven't had my coffee yet, y'know?" he laughed and punched playfully at Italy's shoulder.

The brunette looked a bit befuddled before laughing as well. Alfred thanked the heavens above that it was Italy who had decided to greet him this morning. Much like himself – even though Alfred didn't want to admit it – Italy could be easily swayed away from a subject with a smile and a friendly gesture.

"I'll catch up with you later. Again, don't worry about those files. Everyone slips up now and again." Alfred gave a brief wave before moving out of the way and heading towards an empty seat. Once seated he sighed and ran a hand over his face.

How was it possible that a period of five minutes could feel so strained? He would never understand.

It didn't get any better once the meeting commenced either. Not only did Alfred's eyes feel weighed down with cement from his terrible night of tossing and turning, but Russia was toying and tugging at the side of his mind the whole time. It was maddening. Alfred was feeling paranoid and took several glances towards the Russian when Japan was at the pulpit. It wasn't uncommon. What with the way Russia had been acting towards him with all the calls and the few times he ran into him at a restaurant, it was normal to assume Russia would be watching him, would it?

And yet every time he'd glanced up Russia was involved with his own work, focused solely onto the presentation. It was unnerving. Alfred clenched and unclenched his fingers at his sides in terrible confusion. Was he trying to mess with him? Was this a clever new way to get Alfred riled up and unable to concentrate?

Well.

…It was working.

At the halfway mark, Alfred had had his fingers fisted in his hair, face plastered against the top of the tabletop. He didn't move or even register a voice until a light tapping touched his shoulder. Alfred raised his head cautiously and looked up into the eyes of Japan. He stared at him, arm full of papers that he was collecting.

"It's lunchtime, Alfred-san."

Alfred blinked and glanced around, many bodies making their exit or idly chatting about random spots in the room. The room had gone from buzzing to a quiet lull, voices quietly talking to each other. He slowly sat up and removed his fingers from his hair.

"Oh. Alright." Alfred stifled a yawn when Japan stepped around him to collect another stack of papers.

"Were you sleeping?" the Asian asked distastefully.

Alfred pulled at his jacket and stood up, calmly scooting his chair back in. "No," he answered truthfully. Japan looked at him skeptically. "I wasn't sleeping, but I wasn't paying attention either. Sorry."

Japan frowned but continued down the table. "Priorities, Alfred-san. You will only get chided if you don't do your work."

"Yeah, yeah. You sound like my mom," Alfred muttered with a small smile. "How long do we have?"

"An hour," Japan answered absentmindedly, too preoccupied with his current task to get fully involved into the conversation. Alfred checked his watch before making his way towards the doors. He rubbed the back of his head and stretched his arms to get the stiffness out of his muscles. "Please arrive back here at the set time," Japan said before he managed to leave.

Alfred flashed a thumbs up over his shoulder before disappearing out the doors. He casually made his way out of room and took the elevator to the bottom floor. Once there he got a glance out the window and frowned. It was raining. As of right now it was a slight drizzle, but Alfred still wasn't in the mood to get wet. His old bomber jacket didn't have a hood.

With another sigh (which seemed to be the best way to breathe for him at the moment) he trudged out into the chilly Japanese streets. He only managed to get a block before he thought he heard his name over the pattering of the water. Alfred's skin started to crawl as the hair on the back of his neck abruptly shot up. He turned slowly, begrudgingly towards whomever was calling out to him, expecting none other than Russia to be following after him with his typical smile perched on his face.

Eyebrows rose up into his hairline when seeing a peculiar British man making his way towards him with a large trench coat, scowling when his nice dress shoe sank into a puddle. "Bleeding rain. I'd much prefer the snow," he grumbled under his breath before reaching the surprised American.

Looking as relaxed as possible, England folded his fingers over Alfred's arm and tugged him lightly to the side. They stood under the ledge of some building where rain wouldn't trickle over their heads. "Don't stand there gawking like a fool. You're going to look like you've just tumbled out of the shower."

Alfred continued to stare, only brought back to the situation when England brushed his hands lightly against Alfred's damp bangs, moving them out of his eyes. He flinched and took a step back, lips pursing together as he glanced away. England didn't appear to notice the nervousness in Alfred's posture or the way his hands started to pull at each other.

"Goodness, lad. Why do you still insist on wearing that old, ratted coat? It does you no good for weather such as this," England said, eyeing the old, cracked leather with assessing eyes. Alfred looked down at the shorter nation carefully.

Because I'm_…sentimental_ Alfred thought, slowly recalling the conversation he'd had with Russia in Germany.

"Look at this, it's nearly soaked. How long have you been in this rain? I'm going to go ahead and guess only a minute or so. I've told you before that I can send you a proper coat that will keep you both warm and dry. And don't go belittling British goods like I know you're going to. I don't know if you haven't noticed but 'Made in America' isn't exactly at the top of the best manufactured list," England droned on, folding his hands under his elbows.

Alfred waited quietly and forced his mind away from the great urge to suddenly compare every aspect of himself to – to England. He managed to look down at England which was a hard thing to do; not only because of his stiff neck, but also because his glasses were littered with pebbles of water droplets.

"What did you…what exactly was it that you needed?" he asked, England's green eyes shooting up to his own. The Briton didn't say anything a moment before huffing indifferently.

"I thought you might want to get lunch. You looked a bit distracted during the meeting so I concluded that it had to have something to do with your stomach," England stated matter-of-factly.

Alfred felt slightly flustered at that. England had noticed him during the meeting? That was…new. He never knew that England even _observed _him let alone went out of his way to do it during business. And Alfred knew exactly how serious England got when it came to business.

"Lunch? You mean, like, with you?" Alfred reiterated daftly.

England raised a rather large eyebrow at the dumbfounded look on Alfred's face. "Yes," he finally answered, it coming out suspicious to the quelled tone Alfred had used.

Another bout of silence aside from a car driving by, water splashing onto the curb. "Y-yeah. Sound's good. I have time," Alfred said with a lopsided smile. England narrowed his eyes slightly, opening his mouth and looking as if he wanted to say something but held it back. He nodded in agreement before motioning to the streets.

"Well then. Let's not dawdle any longer. They don't give us much time before another session of that begins."

Alfred followed blindly after England, easily keeping up with the shorter man due to his long legs. England walked at a brisk pace wanting to avoid the rain as much as possible, only glancing over his shoulder once or twice to see if Alfred was keeping up. They walked to the end of the block before England abruptly pushed open a door, waving impatiently for Alfred to walk inside. Shaking his head to get rid of the slight moisture resting there, Alfred looked up to see many familiar faces from the conference hall.

He wasn't surprised, really. Nobody wanted to fare the rain right now, and considering this was the closest quick eatery nearby, it wasn't an unnatural assumption.

He scowled when seeing a few faces he wished weren't present, such as the soviet siblings, a few nations in the middle east that he'd been having some tiffs with, and a couple of other people who he owed a few bucks to and it was just awkward to be around them on his free time.

England's hand to his shoulder guided him forward towards the counter to order. "Don't block the doorway, Alfred," he muttered under his breath. Alfred complied easily and approached the counter. He effortlessly ordered, not really caring what he was getting to eat or how much it cost, still too distracted by a million things swarming his mind like bees. England had instructed him to snag the small table by the glass doors while he retrieved their food.

Alfred sat quietly, just staring at his hands and ignoring the eyes that passed over him. Now that he didn't have anything to distract him he was forced to remember why he wanted minimal to no interaction with England today. Maybe if he mentally prepared himself then it would've been fine seeing the Englishman take his seat across from him with their food, but he hadn't had the opportunity to do that.

He pulled his tray close to himself and gaped at how much food he'd actually ordered. With England sitting across from him with just a bowl of soup and some sort of bread he looked like a stereotypical fat American. He fidgeted more and started poking around the meat on his plate.

"You aren't seriously going to eat all of that, are you?" England asked into the side of his glass.

Alfred felt his face heat up in embarrassment before trying to laugh it off, the sound coming out awkward and unnatural. England raised an eyebrow precariously as Alfred forced a large bite of food into his mouth. "Is that a challenge?" he teased.

At that England shook his head with a roll of his eyes. "Does it take a challenge to get you to stuff your face?" he chuckled to himself. Alfred frowned and stretched his legs under the table, foot accidentally scuffing England in the shin. He apologized quickly, nearly dropping his fork in the process. England tilted his head to the side in puzzlement at the abnormal behavior Alfred was displaying but continued chewing silently.

Oh, this had been a bad idea. A terrible idea. Why had he allowed himself to be dragged with England for lunch? It was painfully obvious from his side of the table that he and England were nothing alike. Somewhere in the back of his mind while England chattered on about a certain novel he'd recently found endearing, Alfred thought that yes, if it had been any other time he would be able to find a million things similar. But this feeling currently clogging his chest was overpowering anything with any semblance to a similarity to England.

Alfred paused mid-chew and placed his fork down. His eyes scoured the room, spotting many nations and picking out at least one thing he could think of that was historically traced back to himself. What perturbed him was that they came to him instantly without much thought. Why, why, why was his mind working against him this very moment? All he could think about was why.

His eyes finally fell upon the corner where Russia and his fellow comrades sat. Alfred stared with a frown, that confusion that was bubbling like irritated magma mixing with anger like a cyclone. This was all _Russia's _fault. It had to be. He was the one randomly talking to him and clinging onto him, filling his head with lies and trying to brainwash him for his own sick, sadistic pleasure.

And yet there he was, sitting and talking like nothing in the world was wrong; like he didn't know that Alfred was watching him. Alfred clenched his teeth and chewed against his lip when Russia kept ignoring him. This was so…so unfair and annoying. Gosh! He was so close to ripping all his hair out.

"–fred. _Alfred._"

Alfred jumped, eyes as large as lily pads when he gazed towards his companion, all sense of anger flowing out of him in one quick breath. England had his head tilted, eyebrows furrowed and full attention on the blonde.

"Y-yeah?"

"Is something the matter? You don't look like you heard a word I said," he said distastefully and leaned back against his chair with folded arms.

"Huh? Oh, no. I did. You were saying that embroidery is a useful skill and that if I made another crude joke about it you were going to shove my fork down my throat."

England paused, looking absolutely incredulous before muttering something under his breath and continuing on.

Phew. Lucky guess. He dodged a bullet there.

With the island nation flapping his jaw about another topic Alfred could care less about, he let his eyes drift back to Russia. He wore that same smile on his face, that smooth, tamed one that he had when talking to Ukraine. It was nothing like the smile he wore around him. The only smiles Russia seemed to reserve for Alfred were teasing ones, ones full of secrets, and cruel ones.

Alfred frowned. Look at him with that stupid big nose and that fluttery, light hair tickling the tops of his ears and eyelashes and large build. Of course he had to look innocent and malevolent all at the same time. Only Russia could manage to do that. He may have looked innocent at times, but much like Alfred, Russia had a surprising temper fueled by stubbornness.

He froze.

Oh. Oh God. Much like _Alfred_? Much like _him_? Alfred felt devastatingly horrified at that moment. He tore his eyes back to England whose mouth was moving but no real words seeming to come out. Alfred forced himself to wrack his mind for something, anything that would do. How could he be like Russia but not like England? That was too much. He needed some air and space to sort this out.

Standing up abruptly Alfred towered over England whose green eyes followed him in alarm, words no longer coming from his lips. "Alfred?"

"I need to – I forgot something at my hotel," he announced quickly, not really caring if that was a significant answer to leave the restaurant in such a hurry. Alfred didn't catch the flabbergasted look England cast him or the confused protests from him when he walked into the rain. It pulled at his hair and clothing, sending chills down his spine and planting Goosebumps to sprout on his skin. He walked and walked with no real destination in mind before settling on a cement bench and placing his chin in his palm.

Many people walking past him cast him a glance only because of his blonde hair and blue eyes; people just seemed to love foreigners. Alfred shut his eyes and just let the feel of rain hit him until he was completely soaked. Mentally exhausted, the American stayed perfectly still, hoping that by some fluke in physics, the bench would swallow him whole so he wouldn't have to think anymore.

He just didn't have it in him.

Alfred wasn't exactly sure how long he'd been sitting there. He was soaked to the core and shivering like mad when all of the sudden the rain stopped hitting his head, shoulders, and back. He thought it was just his imagination but no; there was no more water plaguing him. Opening his eyes slowly, Alfred leaned up to see a large polka dot umbrella resting over his head. He stared for a long while before following the arm holding it, not showing any sign of abrupt displeasure when seeing Russia standing there.

The Russian smiled pleasantly, almost as if expecting a form of gratitude. Alfred looked away and resumed his slumped stance. "Thanks," he muttered.

"You are very welcome, dear America." He gestured to the spot next to Alfred politely even though he knew Alfred wasn't watching him. "Is this seat taken?" he inquired.

"I don't know," Alfred said dully.

"May I sit here?"

"I don't care…"

Russia hummed lightly to himself before sitting down on the wet bench, tucking his head under a corner of the umbrella so that he was sharing with Alfred. It was quite large; large enough so that it didn't look awkward. Now, such a large man sharing an umbrella with the blonde that looked like a soaked rat was a different story of awkward entirely.

He didn't seem to mind if his bottom was getting wet, probably used to much worse than a little water. Russia just sat there satisfyingly next to Alfred as if just soaking in the American's presence was enjoyable enough for him. After a while Alfred lifted his head enough to see intrigued violet eyes dancing over the various faces passing them by, most of which looking oddly baffled by the two of them sharing a pink polka dot umbrella.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Alfred asked after his jaw thawed enough.

"I could ask you the same thing," Russia replied without looking at him.

True. No doubt the conference had resumed. There was no way to mistake that they'd been out longer than an hour. Alfred frowned and sniffed, the smell of wet cement and vodka filling his nostrils at Russia's close proximity. Their sides were practically touching. He thought distantly of moving but decided against it at the last second. Russia was warm, or at least his coat was, Alfred couldn't deny it. And he appreciated the small amount of heat he was getting after sitting around in the rain for God knew how long.

He opened his mouth to tell Russia to buzz off or something of the equivalent.

"I thought you were ignoring me."

Okay, that wasn't exactly what he'd meant to say. Russia shifted slightly, looking down towards Alfred, their eyes locking. "Where would you get an idea like that?" he chuckled.

What was somebody supposed to say to that? Feeling awkward and absolutely antsy from his slipup, Alfred sat up with a groan. His bones cracked in protest. "Nowhere." Smart. That was a good answer. He mentally applauded himself.

Russia turned away, possibly in thought before responding. His voice sounded light and approachable if any stranger had heard it. "Were you feeling lonely because I had not so much as said hello upon your arrival?"

The sincerity of it all shot a jolt of adrenaline and sent him on the defensive. "N-no. I was happy you weren't bothering me," he spat with as much venom as he could muster. It was a shame it wasn't as much as he'd hoped for. Russia giggled to himself sounding simply pleased.

"I see through your words, America."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Alfred demanded and frowned bitterly. Russia shook his head and peered up at the sky.

"Whatever you wish it to mean."

"You're not making sense again. Although I don't know why I bother to try and understand what you're saying through that accent of yours. Two thirds of it doesn't make sense," he grumbled and pulled at his jacket sleeves. He was soaked to the bone and he was starting to feel it. Every cell in his body was starting to hate the rain just as much as he hated the snow.

Russia didn't even seem bothered, let alone like he was listening to Alfred. He simply flexed his fingers over the handle of the umbrella and spun it, overjoyed to see dribbles of raindrops flying off the edges. Alfred blinked and watched it as well. There was just something about Russia's almost childlike amazement that was too forthcoming to look away. How could someone so large and unpredictable seem like such a small kid? Alfred would never understand.

"Is something bothering you?" Russia asked, tearing through Alfred's temporary peace in one fluid motion.

"…What makes you think something's bothering me?" Alfred asked and tightened his lips. _Except you._

"You are not as talkative at this present time. It is boring," Russia explained and stopped spinning the umbrella. "America should be talking. His voice is very fun to hear."

Alfred balked at Russia's playful smile, eyes looking at him with twinkling mirth. Forget the fact that Russia was speaking very strangely. Forget the fact that he was doing kind act number two by holding an umbrella over Alfred's head. Had he actually…_complimented_ him?

"You speak of things that are both impossible and exciting. It is like your life is like a storybook," Russia informed, hiding another giggle behind his hand.

Alright, Alfred took that back. He was nowhere near complimenting him.

"If my life is a storybook then you're the big, bad monster," Alfred muttered in response. Russia stopped his laughing immediately, eyes losing some of their delight. Alfred felt his stomach churn behind such a look; secretive and – was that annoyance?

"Perhaps you are right," Russia concurred with a strained smile looking almost offended. Had Russia ever gotten offended? He leaned forward, much too close for Alfred's comfort. They came face to face, little beads of water falling from the fringe of Russia's hair from when he'd stood in the rain, offering only Alfred the umbrella. He smiled showing the tips of his teeth, eyes alight with glee. "But then again you are so rarely right that who knows where the story will go. Maybe it is you who is the villain."

Alfred gawked, pulling his face away when he could feel Russia's breath ghosting over his cheeks. He rubbed at them lightly with his moist sleeve. "How can I be the villain in my own story? You're dumb."

Russia leaned up as well, a few head sizes above Alfred as he did so. "I have seen stranger things happen."

"I wouldn't doubt it."

With that all conversation died. They were back to where they started, sitting on a damp bench with nothing but the sound of cars and the rain accompanying them. Alfred folded his arms together and made his teeth not chatter. He didn't want to get up just yet but he didn't want Russia to think he was some wimp who couldn't take the cold. Motion to his side brought his attention back to Russia who was now standing, the warmth he provided his side now absent and feeling empty.

Rain touched Alfred's head once more as Russia smiled down at him much like an invitation. "Would you like to go for a walk with me? Such a lovely day should be taken advantage of."

He had no idea what compelled him to slowly stick out his hand, nor did he know why he let the word 'sure' slip past his lips. Russia's eyes stared at the outstretched hand curiously before he gave it a light tug which pulled Alfred to his feet easily. Alfred could only push the thought aside with all his might that Russia's extended hand reminded him of those grassy evenings back when he was small. To where England would invite him for a walk and hold out his hand glowing in the setting sun like a warm promise of safety.

Alfred didn't feel safe around Russia. But for a split second he did feel like he did at that very moment all those years ago. It was gone with a fleeting breath and Alfred felt the world wasn't quite as fair as he'd wanted it to be.

How could Russia be like England and yet he could not? Perhaps his life was really like a storybook. He just hoped Russia wouldn't ruin his happily ever after as he seemed so prone to do.


End file.
